


growing pains

by crybaby



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Casual Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles, Eventual Happy Ending, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Freddie Flintoff/Harry Styles, Past Eleanor Calder/Louis Tomlinson, Past Harry Styles/Ben Winston - Freeform, Past Zayn Malik/Harry Styles, boys being stupid, eventually, famous/non-famous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-01 20:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 63,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6535912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crybaby/pseuds/crybaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/>
    <i>‘Harry Styles? It’s Louis Tomlinson. About the job,’ he pauses, ‘Would you be able to start this coming Friday?’</i>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Harry Styles is stuck. He’s just broken his mum’s heart by dropping out of law school, lives with his childhood best friend-turned boyfriend-turned best friend again, and his greatest prospect at the moment is his casual arrangement with Nick.</p>
  <p>Until Nick gets him a job as a nanny for the summer, resulting in multiple attempts at ignoring feelings, questioning morals and sexuality, pining, and the obligatory angst that comes with a Movie Star falling for his nanny.</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The was very hard to write. I don't even know what else to say. It's been months of stress and "research" to finish this labour of love. It didn't turn out anything like I originally wanted, but I'm quite happy with the end product and hope the fact that I haven't written anything in near a year isn't too obvious.
> 
> The world's biggest thank you goes to my big sister who took the time to edit this and not laugh at me, and all the remaining mistakes are my own. A massive thank you and apology goes to Nicole, Brittany, and Tiffany for being so difficult. And lastly, a special shoutout to Jude Law for inspiring this mess.
> 
> Thank you to the amazing Jessi for the [brilliant mix](https://play.spotify.com/user/1279304383/playlist/3Y4Cpd4iP63yE7iUQiJHCR?play=true&utm_source=open.spotify.com&utm_medium=open) and [beautiful picspam](https://gm1.ggpht.com/34UbS6dP5OU2aN_sp593lUVS0CL6eSVvDdJVFWVkmalL2SeLYfxp3Clrrqy8_BAw1zJPmoJIXTKp6-00EvtjcoKT-jXc_35rX8BLpUYWd-uCb4E5dwXibIIhEFW1LeASnzIb0sQoIk3DSrRHcWuVayIlZE7CczbZ4PHbmrb__8OKSUmAXQlWrk4K8zfYxwoacqGlHEvmF4U4302OtRk-dSKcdMgHwtW1xzttBBHrf5Bb0lk06eBPRDaJhJ_AhpsNqI1PuX5RAzQPyqIgqDs8P-jCoIfOYC0BDsFEr8GMLUrQk4h-OpVtzPIGOvVyuU-LcXaSu_mBhzZ0P-uKO62HLiNPvibG3tZzz0ClQOkp7QhX2QhGNOa7mnRxMh5O0oRtAAbK8agT55UqTJRWTibnyTW9peZKyBgl50sAJppqdgQrtoFAepl1tDXMgq_j2Y30MVmlG5geKFROCkKBYWP3yrrji6NsNws_nIogYXNnJxqN8BvWeGrbi-1VdiBVs6iXe-BLMfPqoYT8McGiMUL5_Cw-XDQ9qdOhaqV6WD__fnmC92cT5ErGpCCCdQeY69ARd0quV51FiylxgeruOOwgUhe0cJW-aGQfz24QDnadMQ81EQw0Q8TvWnYVJqgVg-dtcRS_qyJQtKUxv_hf2xE1uhWN9dDVfKzoTDLVL5XZ0hmAJ5Dla8MgHW8fOq9uoA=w944-h944-l75-ft); it's been amazing working with you.
> 
> Let me know if I should tag anything else. I hope that someone out there enjoys reading this ♡
> 
>  
> 
> **For M**  
> 

 

‘God, what have you gone and done now?’

 

Harry glances up at Zayn. The bright fluorescent lighting in the hospital creates a halo effect around his head, making his already otherworldly features even more pronounced. He looks like an angel, his scrubs just furthering the image. Damn him.

 

He looks over to where Nick is frantically trying to explain the situation to the nurse, his hand movements becoming more exaggerated the longer he tries to convey information without crushing Harry’s dignity. There is also the fact that he is meant to be at the studio in 8 minutes, but claims he was raised too well to leave Harry in his time of peril.

 

When Harry turns back to face Zayn again – who’s still basking in his smug faux-holiness – he’s already anticipating the ribbing this will ensure for the rest of eternity. Zayn holds his clipboard to his chest and stares down at Harry with a look of tiredness and mirth, not even a hint of surprise in finding Harry in the A&E at half five on a Thursday morning. Insulting, really.

 

Harry gives him a look that hopefully conveys the message of _don’t you dare mock me, dickhead_ , before rushing out:

 

‘I have a,’ he mumbles lowly, ‘stuck inside me.’

 

Zayn looks genuinely confused. ‘A what?’

 

Harry repeats himself, louder this time. A glimmer of glee and amusement flickers across Zayn’s face, but he tries to mask it before asking Harry to repeat himself.

 

‘Sorry, what was that?’

 

He knows damn well what Harry’s just said, judging by his delighted expression; he just wants to see Harry squirm. Harry hates him. _Hates_ him.

 

‘I have a condom stuck inside me, for Christ’s sake!’

 

His outburst is loud enough to catch the attention of everyone else in the waiting room. Nick looks at him with a gaping mouth, before turning to the nurse and exclaiming, ‘There’s a bloody condom stuck inside of him!’

 

Heat rushes to Harry’s face, and he flushes a deep shade of red, but he ignores his embarrassment in favour of giving Zayn his Cold Hard Stare as he starts laughing behind his clipboard. ‘Right, we’ll get you some help then.’ He tells Harry, annoyingly smug. Harry feels the need to remind him of their trip to Ibiza.

 

Zayn crosses over to the front desk at the same time that Nick crosses over to him, sitting down next to him and resting a hand on his knee.

 

‘Will you be alright?’ His eyes dart over to the clock above the reception desk pointedly. Harry knocks their shoulders together before pressing a quick kiss to the side of his mouth.

 

‘I’ll be fine; I wouldn’t want to deny the nation the privilege of listening to gush about Rihanna. Off you go.’

 

Nick gives him a final kiss before leaving the waiting room so fast that Road Runner would be proud. Left alone, Harry sinks down into the uncomfortable chair.

 

When Harry set an alarm for 4.40 last night, he was hoping to wake Nick up with an erotic bout of morning sex to make up for what a mess he’s been about the whole UNI fiasco. Instead, he’s sat alone in hospital with a used condom up his arse. Nick’s a liar who definitely does not fit Magnums.

 

 

 

 

Harry’s woken up for the second time that day by a strong smack to the back of his thigh. He groans and blinks his eyes open blearily, looking up first at Zayn’s retreating back, then down to where he’s left a newspaper on the couch cushion beside his thigh.

 

‘Rude,’ he mumbles, sitting up slowly and wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. Zayn returns within half a minute, carrying a bottle of water and a wrap from the hospital canteen. Harry eyes it as he peels the supplier’s sticker off the plastic container. Zayn picks up the remote from the coffee table before resting his feet in the space previously occupied by said remote, leaving his wrap unguarded in his lap.

 

Harry sits up, on the cusp of attacking, but Zayn snatches up his meal and takes a big bite before Harry can carry out his plan. Damn him for being so good at anticipating Harry’s actions.

 

‘I made everyone listen to the Breakfast Show in the break room,’ Zayn says with his mouth full, ‘We all had a nice giggle.’

 

Harry scowls at his smug side-profile. When he’d gotten home after an hour of waiting and a quick ten minutes bent over a hospital bed (while Doctor Dreamy had sorted him out with the use of a speculum and rubber gloves) he’d turned on the radio to see if Nick made it to work on time, only to hear him describing his eventful morning of accompanying his friend to the hospital for personal matters. Halfway through his time in A&E, Harry stopped feeling embarrassed about his situation and had a laugh with the nurse at the front desk. Despite this, he still refuses to let Zayn mock him and decides to hell with it before snatching his wrap out of his hands.

 

He takes a large bite and extends his leg so that he can hold Zayn back with his foot to the centre of his chest. Zayn, infuriatingly familiar with Harry’s weak-spots, tickles the back of Harry’s knee and triumphantly reclaims his snack when Harry curls up like a centipede to escape the torture.

 

Zayn looks horribly smug yet again, and Harry makes a mental note to never share with him again as he sucks the taste of feta off his tongue. He sits back and tucks his feet under Zayn’s thigh while pouting at the screen. ‘I’m glad my humiliation amuses you.’

 

‘Don’t pout, it’s unbecoming.’

 

‘Your face is unbecoming.’

 

Zayn rolls his eyes but his mouth twitches at the corners. ‘In future, maybe avoid the early morning quickies if you don’t want me to tease you.’ He smiles at Harry in that way that makes it impossible for him to not smile back, before he wraps his hand around Harry’s ankle and tugs him down the couch until Harry gets the idea and sits up, half-squashing and half-on-top of Zayn.

 

He holds out his wrap as a wordless invitation for Harry to have another bite. Harry holds his hand still by the wrist before taking as big a bite his mouth allows, leaning to press a saucy kiss to Zayn’s cheek as thanks.

 

The seating arrangement is not one for comfort, but that’s mostly due to the hard thing under Harry’s arse. Harry leans right-wards to pull the newspaper out from under him, holding it at arm’s length as he skims the headlines in an attempt to deduce Zayn’s reason for bestowing such a gift upon him.

 

Without a clue, he nudges Zayn with his shoulder. ‘What’s this for?’

 

‘Thought you could check out some job listings,’

 

Harry bristles, dropping the newspaper into Zayn’s lap. ‘I’m doing my best, Zayn.’

 

Zayn looks ready to fight him, and Harry sets his mouth in a line as he prepares himself for an argument. Zayn stops him from moving away and rather pulls him into a hug, apparently choosing not to comment on the fact that it’s the fourth day that he’s come home to find Harry asleep in the living room.

 

‘I don’t want to fight with you,’ he sighs, offering Harry the last bite of his wrap as truce. Harry knows that he’s actually got the weaker argument, so he should be surrendering, but he accepts the peace-offering, nonetheless.

 

There’s a crappy feeling in Harry’s chest as he cuddles up to Zayn, and not because of the dodgy kebab he had on the way home. He vows that tomorrow, he’s going to stop feeling sorry for himself and find a job. He fiddles with the ring on his fourth finger out of anxious habit.

 

‘Have you told your mum yet?’

 

Right, that. Tomorrow, he’s going to stop feeling sorry for himself, find a job, and tell his mum he’s dropped out of law school.

 

 

 

 

There’s a loud crash, followed shortly by the boom of an explosion. The shower of bullets from guns firing in canon is punctuated by panicked screams, the voice of one man cutting through the chaos with a loud ‘Run!’

 

Harry plugs his one ear and presses his phone closer to the other. ‘Sorry, what was that?! Zayn’s left the bloody TV on and I can’t find the remote!’

 

On the other end of the line, Anne repeats her point with increased volume but Harry still cannot understand her over the obnoxiously loud action scene. He chucks the decorative cushions from the sofa and tries lifting the couch cushions in search for the remote, but all he finds is a butter knife, a Mars bar wrapper, and 50p.

 

He lowers his phone from his ear and holds it to his chest so that Anne won’t hear him. ‘For fuckssake Zayn! Where’s the fucking remote!’

 

Frustrated by the lack of response, he climbs over the coffee table and jabs at the off button in the hopes that it will start working for the first time in two years. When it becomes apparent that no, the buttons on the television still do not work, Harry contemplates switching it off at the wall, but is saved from doing so when Zayn waltzes out of his bedroom, staring down at his phone intently with the remote dangling precariously between his fourth and fifth finger.

 

Zayn looks up when Harry shouts at him again, pulling the universal expression for _What? I can’t hear you_. Harry gestures at the television wildly, and only then does Zayn twig and mute the noise, bathing the flat in complete silence, bar the angry shouting that is coming from Harry’s phone.

 

Harry glares at Zayn before bringing his phone back to his ear. ‘Sorry mum, he’s turned it down now. Would you mind repeating that?’

 

Anne launches into her lecture for the third time as Harry makes his way to his bedroom, giving Zayn the finger as he leaves. Zayn sticks his tongue out through his teeth while giving Harry a crinkly eyed smile.

 

He ventures out just under an hour later, having been saved another hour’s worth of scolding by Anne’s shit phone-battery. She had, of course, warned him that she was not done with him and that she’d be calling back as soon as she gets home and recharges.

 

Zayn’s still on the couch, tapping away at his phone with a dirty smirk on his devilishly handsome face. Twenty years of friendship have ensured some form of a greater bond, so Zayn looks up from his phone the moment he presumably senses Harry’s need for a cuddle.

 

Harry collapses down next to him, turning his face into his bony thigh before he lets out a long groan. Zayn, bless him, recognises that Harry is more important than whoever he is chatting up on his phone and puts his fingers to better use, i.e. playing with Harry’s hair.

 

‘Judging by your whale impression, I’m gonna guess she didn’t take it well?’

 

Harry shakes his head against his thigh. Didn’t take it well would be an understatement. The fifty minute verbal lashing he’d received mirrored the grieving process quite accurately, starting with Stage 1: Disbelief (“You did what!”); Stage 2: Anger (“Harry Edward Styles, I brought you into this world and I can take you right back out of it!”); Stage 3: Bargaining (“If only you’d told me before being so stupid!”); Stage 4: Depression (“It’s because I’m a bad mother, isn’t it? If I was a better mother this wouldn’t have happened. Oh God, you’re going to have to move back home!”)

 

However, rather than reaching a point of acceptance, she’d cycled right back to Stage 1. Harry is ever grateful that her battery died before she could repeat the following three.

 

He turns his cheek against Zayn’s thigh so that he’ll be audible before responding. ‘She says I need to call dad to tell him that I’ve poured all his money down the drain. She also said she's going to stop funding me.'

 

Zayn doesn't have to say anything for Harry to know what he's thinking. He hates it when he comes across spoiled, and he knows that Zayn judges him sometimes, that he can't help doing it.

 

'I'm sure she'd understand if you just told her.'

 

'I can't do that,' Harry replies miserably, resting his head on his shoulder, 'She'd be so disappointed.'

 

'I somehow think she's more upset thinking that you decided to quit on a whim; it would probably be a relief to learn that you aren't just being an irresponsible twat.'

 

'Hey!'

 

Zayn makes a sound of apology before his hand leaves Harry’s hair and his focus is returned to the television screen, where Louis Tomlinson is busy commanding an entire squadron of muscle-y army men with his own muscle-y abs on display.

 

Harry flops onto his back in his impression of a puppy in the summer heat in the hopes that Zayn will pet him again. Zayn doesn’t, eyes remaining glued to a bronzed and beefed up actor instead of his very bestest friend. Harry harrumphs. Fine then, Nick will pet him if Zayn won’t. Speaking of-

 

‘Remember that Nick is coming over for supper tonight. You’re cooking.’

 

Zayn manages to drag his eyes away from abs long enough to frown at Harry. ‘No I’m not, it’s your turn.’

 

‘I’ve done the cooking all week!’

 

‘That’s because you need to earn your keep somehow now that your lazy arse doesn’t have education as an excuse to be jobless,’ Harry sits up and stares at Zayn in a manner which he hopes conveys the degree of offence he has taken, ‘Speaking of, how’s the job hunt going? Any luck today?’

 

Harry pulls a face. Despite his attempts to stop feeling sorry for himself and find a job, all he’s accomplished is the valuable knowledge that he is unqualified to do anything – bar being a waiter and he’d rather die than do that again – because two years of hard work are worthless unless you follow through.

 

Zayn understands from his facial expression alone. ‘Ah, I’m sorry duck,’ He actually sounds sympathetic, but the effect is ruined when reaches to ruffle Harry’s artfully styled hair, ‘maybe you’ll have better luck after the weekend.’

 

Unlikely, unless Harry manages to procure a degree overnight. ‘Hopefully.’

 

‘And if not, you can always do porn.’

 

 

 

 

Harry was 19 when he joined Zayn in London, moving in with him in the flat that they chose together in South London. Zayn was going into Second Year already, but Harry was only just going into First, having spent a year trying to find himself on his parents’ dime.

 

It was part guilt over spending his parents’ money and part his guilt about Zayn that propelled him to find a job as a waiter at a bar/restaurant.

 

It was one of those flavour of the month type places, frequented by people with unnatural hair choices and semi-celebrities. It was the sort of place where he had to wear tight jeans and spent more time hanging about in the back-alley than doing his job. Harry subsided almost completely off the tips he earned from The Dimple before he’d met Ben.

 

But before Ben, there was Nick. Harry had been so uncharacteristically star struck by Nick Grimshaw being in his section that he’d hardly made him and his table wait the customary fifteen minutes before he was serving them with the energy of a Labrador puppy.

 

He laid it on a bit thick, hardly paying attention to Nick’s star-studded company as he’d batted his eyelashes at one of his many tween crushes. He’d even made sure to get his order right.

 

Nick had flirted back just as hard, and by the end of the night, he’d asked Harry for his number. ‘I can’t do that,’ Harry had simpered, resting his hand on the back of his chair and leaning into him, ‘I’ll be sacked.’

 

Nick huffed and puffed before digging through Pixie Geldof’s handbag, pulling out a folded up index card and an HSBC pen, scribbling on the back of the card until it had started to work. Harry watched Nick Grimshaw write his number down before refolding the card and passing it back to Harry with a wink.

 

‘I suppose you’ll just have to call me then.’

 

Harry folded the card (A Bob Geldof business card, he’d found out later) once more before he’d slipped it into his front pocket. ‘I’ll call you,’ Nick Grimshaw leant back in his chair and smiled smugly at Harry, sensing that he’d managed to ensnare him, ‘If you say my name on radio tomorrow morning.’

 

His smile had faltered before widening. Harry now knows that there are few things Nick likes more than a challenge, and he’d been rewarded the following morning when Nick made a flyaway comment about Prince Harry’s smile between a Rihanna song and a Katy Perry song.

 

Two and a bit years later, and Harry’s managed to work his way into Nick’s life, his bed, and his wardrobe.

 

 

 

 

‘I come bearing wine!’ Is how Nick announces his presence.

 

Zayn gives a half-hearted cheer from his position at the stove in the kitchen (he’s cooking because he realised how cruel he had been to Harry, and also because Harry beat him 3-1 in Rock, Paper, Scissors.) Nick sets a canvas Waitrose bag down on the tiny dining room table before hunching over to kiss the top of Harry’s head, where he is hunched over his laptop and rocking forward in his chair.

 

‘Christ, that looks dreadful. What is it?’

 

‘Windows 10,’ Harry gripes, tapping his mousepad impatiently until his Chrome finally unfreezes, ‘and job searching.’ Nick pulls a face before sitting down beside Harry and leaning in ridiculously close to read what’s on the screen. ‘Where’re your glasses, grandpa?’

 

Nick kicks one of the legs of his chair so that he nearly falls off, before the three legs that are off the ground bang down against the laminate-wood flooring. Nick watches Harry right himself on his chair with his infuriatingly attractive and charmingly lopsided smile.

 

‘You need to learn some manners, Harold,’ Harry bats at him pointlessly as Nick makes a show of ruffling his hair and stuffing Harry’s face into his armpit in the process. He keeps him in his underarm-y headlock so that the feet of Harry’s chair decide to make more noise as the chair is shifted towards Nick’s. He plants a wet kiss to Harry’s temple before Harry manages to push him off, his chair wobbling precariously and squeaking with the force of the action. Harry is starting to get the idea that his chair wishes to pursue a career in performance, judging by all the singing and jiggling it does.

 

He makes a point of brushing Nick off and hunching back over his laptop, ignoring him pointedly. Nick, ever clueless to social cues, leans his elbows on the table-top and watches what Harry’s doing with suspicious focus.

 

‘Why are you looking for jobs in a restaurant?’

 

Harry angles his screen away from Nick’s judgemental gaze, fully intending to continue his ignoring. However, Nick pokes him in the ribs until he acknowledges him again. ‘Apparently, I am only qualified to work in the culinary industry.’

 

‘You’ve been doing your lawyer nonsense for two years now,’ Nick says slowly, like Harry might’ve forgotten the past two years of his life.

 

‘Yes,’ Harry presses the down arrow with extreme belligerence, but instantly regrets it, because it’s not the down arrow’s fault that he wasted two years of his life and is a complete failure, ‘but no one cares when I’ve got nothing to show for it.’

 

He tries not to let his misery regarding said fact show, but Nick must pick up on it. He rests his arm over Harry’s shoulder and pulls him into his side. ‘Well, you’ve got tonnes of other hireable qualities.’ Harry tries to raise an eyebrow, but he’s never been a master at the whole Nancy Drew thing, and probably just ends up raising both.

 

Nick must interpret this as Harry being surprised, rather than unimpressed, and starts trying to prove to Harry that he has many good qualities.

 

‘You’ve got a lovely face, and a gorgeous voice. You give incredible massages, and you’ve got lovely hands. And you’ve got great style, very Mick Jagger mixed with Tom Ford. It’s a bit like a 80s rent boy actually-’

 

‘So basically I should become a kept man?’ God, he needs to find friends who don’t encourage him to find a career in sex, if only for the fact that it may send his mum to an early grave.

 

‘Shush. You also-’ Nick cuts himself off and has to think for a bit, which Harry might’ve been insulted by if he were not drowning in worry, ‘You also know a lot of useless facts and take very long to wee.’

 

‘Is that a skill, then?’

 

‘You take so bloody long I should think so. But you really are very skilled, so don’t sell yourself so short.’ Nick squeezes his shoulder and gives him a soft smile before tilting his head slightly. ‘Actually, come to think of it, you really could have a career in porn. You’ve got the mouth, got the cock, got the name, and if you keep doing your squats-’

 

‘Hey!’ Harry squawks, affronted, ‘Was it not you who spent an hour appreciating my arse’s growth spurt last week?’

 

‘That’s beside the point. You could be named Austin Powerbottom. No, wait! Mick Shagger!’

 

When the conversation reaches its end and Harry returns his focus to prospective job listings, Nick lets his hand glide down his back, resting his hand at the small of his back.

 

‘You know,’ he starts, his voice soft in one of his moments of genuine care that always manage to catch Harry off-guard, ‘I can help you if you need it.’

 

Harry is awfully tempted to agree and let Nick sort out his problems because quite frankly, he feels like he may just drown in the responsibility and end up crying in the corner. But he is an adult, and he should be able to look after himself, probably, so he shakes his head. ‘No, I can’t make you do that Nick,’

 

‘Hush. Let me help you. If nothing else, I can just try and find you something so that you won’t have to wait tables, because I know how bad you were at that.’

 

It’s a sweet gesture, even though Harry’s not sure what type of work opportunities Nick intends to procure for him, especially since Harry knows how hard it is to even become an intern at the BBC. Maybe Nick will get him and in with his friends and Harry can become Harry Styles, Dog-Walker of The Stars.

 

Whatever fight he had leaves him to sag against Nick’s side. ‘Okay, you can help me. I’m still going to carry on looking for myself though, but I’d really appreciate it if you looked around too.’

 

Nick resembles a Happy Face biscuit because of how pleased with himself he is. Harry instantly regrets feeding his ego. He makes a note to sprinkle some cayenne pepper in his wineglass to knock him down a peg later.

 

 

 

 

He feels almost ashamed when he sees Nick again the following Tuesday. He feels like he should have done more, maybe somehow managed to sort his entire life out, or at the very least found himself some sort of temp position. He doesn’t want to ask Nick if he’s found anything for him, because it makes him feel small and he should be able to look after himself. So Zayn asks instead.

 

‘Any good news?’

 

‘Daisy said she’s willing to pay you to be her pool boy,’

 

Zayn frowns. ‘Does Daisy have a pool?’

 

‘Hence why I thought perhaps not. But I have a stylist’s assistant, photography assistant, and a few people looking for home slash pet-sitters.’ Harry feels the bubble of shame again because Nick makes it seem so easy. It makes Harry feel like a little boy, just pretending to be an adult. ‘Also,’

 

Nick pauses when there’s a clatter from the kitchen that is presumably the sound of Zayn’s pot boiling over, which then prompts Zayn to spring from his chair. Harry snorts and contemplates going to offer assistance, but he’s still prickly from earlier comments and his insistence that Harry should either pursue adult entertainment or move back home. Better he doesn’t help anyway, because once alone, Nick leans in closer towards him.

 

‘Was thinking I wouldn’t mind having an assistant. Could boss you around and make you suck me off under the desk.’

 

Harry wiggles his eyebrows at him and rests his hand on his thigh under the table. Zayn curses from the kitchen and Nick sniggers, before there’s a loud splash of water and a soprano shriek.

 

‘Do you need help, Z?’ Harry calls over his shoulder, giving Nick’s thigh a squeeze and getting up to go help before getting a response.

 

Zayn’s standing sans-pants by the basin, struggling to pull his top over his head. Harry knows he shouldn’t laugh, because his friend could be seriously injured if the spill of water spreading across their kitchen (presumably from the pot that is now upside down on the floor) and his bright pink skin is any indication. He really shouldn’t laugh, not while his friend could be suffering third degree burns or something while he wriggles around, t-shirt stuck around his head and trousers around his ankles. He will not laugh.

 

‘Christ Harry, stop giggling and help me before my cock burns off!’

 

 

 

 

'I just remembered what I was trying to tell you last night, before Zayn so rudely interrupted,'

 

Harry hums. That reminds him, he needs to get more butter. He strolls down the aisle, balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder so he can chuck a bag of brown rice into his shopping basket.

 

He cuts Nick off. 'Are you coming over again tonight?'

 

'Can't. Sorry love, got other plans. Seems like all I’ve been doing recently is spending time at yours.'

 

'Are you finally leaving me for a newer model?'

 

Nick snorts. 'As if. You're already hard to keep up with; I can't imagine trying to match the stamina of a younger model.' Harry chuckles. 'And I'm going out with friends, if you must know.'

 

Harry hums in understanding, turning into the last aisle to peruse down the dairy side. He places a block of butter in his basket and listens to shuffling and background conversation on Nick's end of the line until Nick returns and he can ask:

 

'What's the difference between low fat and fat free yoghurt?'

 

'Fat content? I don't know. I was just calling you because -'

 

'They only have plain fat free. Do think it'll taste better if I eat it with honey, or should I buy low fat vanilla instead and skip the hassle.'

 

'Vanilla definitely,' Nick advises, before he exclaims, 'Dammit Harry, stop distracting me! I was calling to tell you I've found a job for you,'

 

'You did?' Harry frowns as he puts a tub of vanilla yoghurt into his basket. He should get some frozen berries. And some muesli.

 

'Well, you have to go to an interview first, but you're charming enough to make you for the lack of qualification.'

 

'I'm plenty qualified!' Harry interjects, trying to decide between mixed berries and raspberries.

 

'To be an escort maybe, but you're lacking a bit in the area of childcare.'

 

'Childcare?' Nick moves away from his phone and Harry is close to tapping his foot impatiently as he listens to Nick's muffled conversation.

 

'Sorry babe, just had to sign something. Where was I?'

 

'Childcare?'

 

'Right. Well, I've got you an interview to look after a little girl for the summer,'

 

Harry scans to identify which till has the shortest queue. 'As a nanny?'

 

'I suppose. I know you love children, and they seem to love you, so it seems like something you'd be good at.'

 

'Thanks Nick,' Harry says earnestly, standing behind a middle aged man in an oversized duster coat, 'Who for?'

 

'That's a secret, I'm afraid. You'll have to wait and see,' Nick tries not to giggle, and Harry writes it off, picking up a pack of chewing gum. 'Anyway, I've got to be off. I'll talk to you later, alright?'

 

'Alright. Love you,' Harry greets, Nick repeating the sentiment before he puts down.

 

He tucks his phone into his pocket and looks around while he waits, eyes roaming over different faces in the queues before they stop on the smiling face of Louis Tomlinson. He feels himself smiling reflexively, drawn in by the bright blue-grey of his eyes. He manages to reign in his smile before he focuses on the words written in bold across the front page of the magazine.

 

**TOMLINSON AFFAIR UP IN FLAMES?**

 

In the bottom right corner of the cover, there's a photo of Louis in pyjamas, standing in front of a burning townhouse, firefighters a blur of motion around him.

 

The same picture is blown up as the front page of two other tabloids. Harry reads the headline **LOUIS TOMLINSON: ACTOR OR ADULTERER?** And can’t help but it up off the rack and page past the index and ads before he reaches the title article. He frowns, trying to absorb the gist from the bolded words and the selection of photos, before there's a cough from behind him and his head snaps up, meeting the eyes of an unimpressed teller.

 

He smiles apologetically and sets the magazine back on the rack, placing his basket down and starting to unload it.

 

 

 

 

Harry is horrendously late. He and Nick had been right in the middle of a good-luck fuck, in the middle of the kitchen because Zayn was on shift, when Zayn had apparently no longer been on shift. Running on two hours sleep, he'd just about fizzed-over when he'd walked into the kitchen and found Harry and Nick bare-assed and sweaty on the breakfast table.

 

He'd set off into a full-blown tantrum, undeterred by Nick and Harry's state of undress as he'd lectured them until Nick's cock had softened in Harry's arse. By the time Zayn had decided he had had enough ranting and taken a Muller to his bedroom, Nick finally pulling out of Harry with a pathetic pop, Harry had only twenty minutes before he was meant to be in South Kensington.

 

‘There is nothing fucking here! I swear to God, Nicholas, if you have sent me on a wild goose chase-‘

 

Nick laughs a bit more, clearly enjoying Harry’s panic. ‘Look harder. Where are you?’

 

‘I’ve just done driven round Pelham Crescent.’

 

‘Not Pelham Crescent, Pelham _Street_.’

 

‘I know, Nicholas. I’ve driven down Pelham Street and can’t see a bloody thing. Oh, there’s a Ralph Lauren Kids just down the road, how convenient,’ Harry swears under his breath when a yummy-mummy in a car big enough to eat his own cuts him off at the intersection.

 

‘Stop being cheeky and get back onto Pelham Street,’ Nick chuckles, clearly amused by Harry’s stress. ‘Just look for a gate.’

 

Harry has to drive back round the crescent before he can get back onto the street, and he drives slowly with his sunglasses pushed on top of his head. ‘There isn’t a bloody gate! There isn’t a bloody house -’

 

‘Of course there is, I’m going over in a few hours,’

 

‘You are never going to fuck me again, I promise you that Nick. You’ve made me late and won’t even help me.’ Nick starts to protest but Harry stops listening because he finally spots the cast-iron gate, indicating left and pulling into the drive. ‘Soz, I’ve just found it. It’s on Onslow, not Pelham you idiot. Love you.’

 

He puts down before Nick can respond and rolls down his window to press on the keypad. The gate swings open promptly without Harry even having to say anything. He knows he’s late, but he feels a lot more anxious than he’s ever felt before as he pulls into a long gravel driveway.

 

‘Crikey Moses,’ he mutters to himself as he crawls up the tree-lined drive, approaching the sight of the huge house, sunlight reflecting off the glass front.

 

His sunglasses fall off his head and somewhere down the side of his seat, presumably never to be seen again, in his haste to park the car and undo his seatbelt and exit the car all at the same time. He jumps out of the car and climbs the three steps to the front door before knocking on the front door with more urgency than is probably necessary. He feels about ready to drop to his knees and apologise for his lateness before the door opens and he seems to lose control of his mouth.

 

'Christ!' He says, before he widens his eyes at himself. 'Fuck, sorry!' Upon realising what he's just said, he spits out another, 'Fuck!' Before he can dig himself deeper, he slaps his hand over his mouth, appalled by how unprofessional he's been.

 

'I feel like I've just had a _Love Actually_ moment,' Louis Tomlinson says, leaning against the doorway and looking highly amused. Amused! By Harry! Harry has amused Louis Tomlinson! He fully intends to strangle Nick.

 

Deciding that he can control himself and be professional, he drops his hands down to his sides. Big mistake, because in response he says, 'Does that mean you're going to fire me because you love me too much?'

 

He feels the blood rush to his cheeks and he closes his eyes. If he weren't wearing his damn heeled boots he could be halfway to China by now. Before he can mentally calculate the pros and cons of kicking them off and running for the hills, he's startled by a loud cackle.

 

'Let's not get ahead of ourselves mate, I've only just met you,' Louis Tomlinson says, before extending his hand, 'I'm Louis.'

 

Harry is very aware of this fact, so much so that he himself is shocked by his behaviour. Oh, if anyone who has ever called him suave and charismatic could see him now.

 

'Harry...Styles. Harry Styles.' It would appear that he truly does not know how to control himself when I'm the presence of his childhood crush, for when he accepts his outstretched hand, he repeats once again, 'Harry Styles, sir.'

 

Louis Tomlinson laughs, clasping Harry's hand between both palms and giving his hand a firm shake. He laughs again when Harry doesn't let go of his hand right away. Well, at least when he is asked to leave the premises, he can go home with the knowledge that he's made Louis Tomlinson laugh.

 

Rather than requesting that he remove himself, Louis Tomlinson steps aside and invites Harry in with a sweep of his arm. Harry follows him into the house, looking around with wide eyes in wonderment. It’s a very pristine establishment, a mix of Elle Décor and Cath Kidston. It’s peaceful and gorgeous, apart from the bustle of penguin-uniformed helpers balancing silver trays of canapes that whiz past him in a flurry of grayscale activity.

 

Harry follows Louis Tomlinson through the heart of chaos, into what he assumes is the dining room, where The Eleanor Calder sits calm and composed, scrolling through her phone with a notepad on the table in front of her, and a ballpoint pen resting next to it.

 

He leans over the table to shake Eleanor Calder’s hand, giving her his best smile (which Zayn so lovingly christened as his Panty-Dropper Smile) before sitting.

 

‘Harry, is it?’ She asks, showing off perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth.

 

Harry berates himself for not introducing himself, but nods his head at her question. ‘Sorry I’m late.’

 

‘Not a bother,’ Louis Tomlinson jumps in before he settles back in his chair. ‘We only just finished the previous interview before you arrived.’

 

They fall into an awkward silence, and Harry fiddles with the heavy ring on his finger underneath the table top, his eyes flicking between the pair across from him as he moves the ring to his thumb. Louis Tomlinson is dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, with dark stubble dotting his jaw line and bags under his eyes, and Eleanor Calder is wearing a silky pink robe and has yellow Velcro curlers in her hair, but they are still the most gorgeous couple Harry’s ever laid eyes upon.

 

‘Well, let’s just dive straight in shall we?’ Eleanor cuts through the silence, giving Harry another welcoming smile. ‘Nick sent over a CV for you, but I’m guessing you knew that?’

 

Harry nods, pulling his ring off his left thumb and sliding it onto his right middle finger.

 

‘It says here that you speak fluent French?’

 

Harry opens his mouth but is at a loss for words. He took French for his GCSE’s, but he thinks he’d be using “fluent” a bit liberally to describe his talents. ‘Um, I guess you could say that?’

 

‘Well, would you be able to teach our daughter basic French?’ Louis Tomlinson asks, resting his elbows on the dining room table and staring at him. Basic French, Harry can do that. ABC’s, 123’s, how to discuss weather with a petrol attendant. Easy.

 

‘I think so.’

 

‘And you’re a trained _pâtissier_?’

 

Once again, liberal use of “trained”. Maybe, if a year of working in a bakery counts. He does make a mean eclair. ‘Yes.’

 

‘Played A-team cricket, C-team hockey in school?’ That much is true, but Christ, was Nick emailing his mum or something? Is she in on this cruel trick? He nods in affirmation. ‘And you have experience working with children?’

 

Once again, that is true. He’s always loved children, and he’s always been first choice when it comes to babysitting among people he knows. ‘Yes, a fair bit.’

 

‘I contacted Ms Teasdale, and she had nothing but good things to say about you.’

 

‘Stop it, you’re making me blush,’ Harry teases, his eyes flicking over to Louis Tomlinson, who’s still staring at him with his bizarrely blue eyes.

 

‘And you’re trained in CPR?’

 

‘Yes,’ he affirms uncertainly, dragging out the vowel sound. It’s true to say that he took a compulsory CPR course for PE, but he’s not sure whether one hour in the school hall with the rugby coach would be formally recognised.

 

‘Could you please make sure that you send us proof of some sort by tomorrow.’

 

Harry nods, biting at his cuticle as he makes a mental note to ask his mum to scan the certificate he’s sure he’s got hidden somewhere at home.

 

‘You have a driver’s licence and vehicle?’

 

Harry pulls out his wallet to slide his licence across the table. ‘Car’s outside.’

 

Louis Tomlinson inspects his card before handing it back to him, and Eleanor Calder jots something down on her notepad.

 

'Marta, our current nanny, has her own children to look after, so she can only come in on weekends until the beginning of September. If you were to take on the position, we'd need you to be available from Monday mornings to Friday afternoons.'

 

Harry nods in understanding, sliding his ring back onto his thumb.

 

'You'd be free, of course, to do whatever you want once she's been put to bed,' Louis says, and Harry has to actively remind himself not to get lost in his eyes, 'As long as you aren't too loud.'

 

Harry's heartbeat spikes when Louis winks at him, his palms starting to sweat.

 

‘Mr Styles-’

 

‘Please, Harry,’

 

Eleanor Calder smiles. ‘Harry. I must say, that if it weren’t for Lou’s special situation with Nick, I don’t think we would have even considered you, but you do seem like quite a good fit.’

 

Harry can’t help but beam at the pair of them.

 

‘Yeah, Nick said you were only looking at the highest of nanny agencies,’

 

‘May I ask why you wish to be a nanny? I mean, were you not attending a university for law?’ Louis Tomlinson asks, and Harry forgives him for touching his sore spot simply because of his beauty.

 

‘It’s a bit complicated, but I’ve decided to drop out of university, and now I intend to just spend awhile trying to find myself, I guess.’ He makes sure to speak slowly to get his thoughts out clearly, unable to draw his eyes away from Louis’.

 

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Eleanor sounds genuine, giving him another smile before she checks her watch. ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid we’ll need to cut this short. We’ll be in touch,’ she says, in lieu of a dismissal.

 

Louis stands, gesturing for him to do the same as Eleanor makes a note on her notepad. ‘I’ll show you out.’

 

He takes him back through the house, and Harry still feels he may be in a dream. It’s like the old biscuit advert that he always used to see when he was little, people flitting around in organised chaos. Louis must notice him staring, because he nudges his elbow as they walk through the sitting room.

 

‘It’s a bit chaotic, isn’t it? We’re having our seventh year anniversary party, and I think everyone’s a bit frazzled.’

 

‘Wow, seven years?’ Harry comments. It doesn’t feel like seven years ago that he stole Gemma’s _Heat_ and _Hello!_ magazines to stare at the glossy pictures of Louis Tomlinson and Eleanor Calder standing side by side, in a blue-black suit and Harry’s favourite silky gown from Vera Wang’s 2009 Spring Collection respectively.

 

Louis leads him back down the passage, and Harry takes more time to admire the photographs mounted on the wall. From a variety charmingly mismatched frames, different faces smile back at him. He pauses as he looks at a photograph of a young girl, assuming it must be their daughter. They’ve always been very private with her and managed to keep her completely out of the public eye. There was still the occasional conspiracy theory as to whether or not Eleanor Calder had ever really been pregnant, and if they really had a child.

 

Louis clears his throat politely. He’s reached the front door while Harry’s been distracted, and he holds it open as an indication for Harry to leave. Harry looks at him sheepishly. ‘Sorry, I just realised I don’t know your daughter’s name.’

 

‘Olivia.’ He smiles when he says it, as if he can’t help how much joy his child brings him. ‘Well, Libby for short.’

 

‘Libby?’ Harry asks, stepping past Louis when he stands aside.

 

He hovers in the threshold, and Harry on the first step. ‘We used to call her Livy when she was younger, and when she learnt how to talk she would copy us. Of course, she couldn’t pronounce “Livy” and ended up saying “Libby” and it just stuck.’

 

‘I see.’

 

‘I see said the blind man to his deaf daughter sitting at the corner of the Round Table eating baked potatoes raw,’ Louis says in a rush, like he can’t help himself.

 

Harry can’t help but laugh at the horrendous dad joke, unsure as to whether it was just a figment of his imagination.

 

Not wanting to come across ruder than he has already throughout the duration of his stay, he makes his way down the steps, but not before he leans in for a friendly kiss out of habit. Louis Tomlinson steps back, his eyebrows practically hiding in his hairline. Without a clue as how to save the situation, Harry simply steps past him and follows the footpath to his car without looking back. There’s now another van parked behind him.

 

He’s climbing into the driver’s seat when he looks up and notices Louis leaning against the doorframe, watching after him. Christ, he’s actually seeing him out properly. Harry didn’t know that people still did that.

 

He raises his hand in a small wave, which Louis reciprocates, and Harry closes the car door and buckles in. He pulls out of the space, doing a U-y before he looks back at the house in his rear-view mirror, just in time to see the bright blue door close.

 

 

 

 

‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you.’ Harry says when Nick finally opens his door.

 

Nick pulls him in with his hands on his waist, going in for a kiss. It lands on Harry’s cheek when he turns his face and slaps at his chest. ‘How dare you send me to an interview with Louis Tomlinson without giving me warning? I made a complete fool of myself!’

 

Nick snorts as he walks away from him and further into his flat. Harry toes off his boots and shrugs off his jacket, hanging it up beside the door. He follows Nick into the kitchen.

 

‘You’re exaggerating.’ Nick pulls open the fridge and twiddles his fingers like he’s from _Charmed_ , before pulling a half-full wine bottle from the refrigerator door.

 

‘It’s not even noon.’ Nick snorts, muttering _noon_ under his breath like Harry’s the strange one. Harry hoists himself onto the worktop. ‘And I’m not exaggerating. It was horrible.’

 

Nick pulls the stopper from the bottle and gets two glasses from above the microwave. ‘Oh please, you probably had them eating out the palm of your hand, ready to hand over their credit card information.’

 

Harry accepts the glass Nick brandishes upon him before he leans his upper back against the cupboard behind him. It’s actually quite uncomfortable. ‘Well, I started off by making an inappropriate _Love Actually_ joke, which I then followed up by some awkward staring, before finally going in for a kiss when Louis Tomlinson walked me to the door.’

 

‘You did not!’ Nick sounds delighted.

 

‘I did, all because you did not give me sufficient warning, and I went into a professional interview acting like some crazed fan.’

 

‘I sat with you through _Blue Dawn_ , you are a crazed fan.’

 

Harry kicks out at him half-heartedly, but Nick grabs at his ankle and pulls so that he near slips off the counter.

 

Harry hates him. He deserves to know. ‘I hate you, Nicholas.’

 

‘I hate you too. Now come on,’ Nick sets his glass down on the island in the centre of his kitchen before he makes his way over to Harry. He takes the glass from his hand and spreads his knees, running both hands up his thighs, ‘I demand a do-over for this morning, preferably with no Zayn.’

 

Harry nods. He’s been feeling a bit feverish since his interview. He cups Nick’s jaw and cranes down to meet his lips in a slow kiss.

 

‘Actually, Zayn can join, but only if he intends to participate.’

 

Harry snorts, tugging at his hair to shut him up.

 

 

 

 

He wakes up Sunday with a mighty hangover, taking a moment to try and remember where he is. A quick scan of his surrounding leads him to the conclusion that he’s at Nick’s still. Nick’s bed, to be precise.

 

‘Nick,’ he whines, shaking his shoulder. His skin is warm and clammy, and he just grunts in response. ‘Niiiick,’ he tries again. Nick grabs at his arm weakly in an attempt to still him.

 

‘Go away Harry.’

 

‘Feed me,’ Harry whines, shaking him again. He feels sick and achy and his teeth feel fuzzy, but above all, he’s hungry. And if he remembers correctly, Nick abandoned him for an angel-faced model last night and told Harry to go back to his alone, so he as good as owes Harry breakfast.

 

‘Let me sleep, Harold.’

 

‘I’ll puke on you,’ Harry warns, faking a retch to force Nick into action. It has the desired effect, and Nick grumbles as he draws himself out of bed. It also makes Harry feel dangerously close to actually being sick and sends him stumbling into his en suite.

 

Once he’s gargled the taste out of his mouth (never brush, bad for enamel, he reminds himself) and managed his way into Nick’s living room, Nick gifts him with a plate of a dry toast slathered in Clover and a Sprite. Quite aggressively, he might add.

 

He drums his nails against the top of the can before opening and taking a long glug. Miracle liquid, it is. Nick sits half on top of him and shoves his feet in his lap before he munches down Harry’s slice of toast. Harry tries to bat him away, but it’s futile. He’s just got too much arm and hand for Harry to stand a chance. He switches the television onto CNN, before changing over to the tail-end of a _Top Gear_ , having the audacity to fall asleep on Harry’s shoulder not even two minutes in.

 

Harry watches the end bit, before it changes onto _Amazing Spaces_ , and Harry falls asleep to a dream narrated by George Clarke.

 

By early afternoon, he feels much better. He’s got a few angry messages from Zayn, who, from what he gathers, is feeling bitter because Harry passed him on to a co-ed with red hair and “abandoned him.” Always been a bit dramatic, that one.

 

‘Don’t think I’ll get to see you much this week.’ There’s a crease between Nick’s eyebrows as he looks down at his phone, before looking up at him. His hair is flat as a bath-mat on his forehead. ‘Work’s a bit mad.’

 

Harry is well versed in the language of Nick, so he knows that the translation would be something along the lines of _let’s fuck_.

 

Five minutes of minimal kissing and a very lazy fingering on Nick’s part later, and Harry’s got Nick on his back and his cock up his arse.

 

‘Fuck,’ Harry grunts, running his fingers through his hair as Nick hits a particularly good angle. He leans back into his arm, his nails digging into the meat of Nick’s thigh as he arches his back and tilts his head back, moaning long and low as Nick grabs hold of his hips and holds him still so that he can fuck up against his spot.

 

Nick knows just how to work him, always manages to fuck him just right. Harry kind of hates how easily Nick can make him go from respectable moans to embarrassing little whimpers, managing to make Harry make noises that Nick says make him sound like a whiny puppy.

 

Harry is fast-approaching his peak, his breath coming out in squeaky gasps that he’d be embarrassed about if Nick’s cock didn’t feel so good inside him, splitting him in two as he works Harry like no one else can. Harry gives his hair a quick tug before giving in and dropping his hand to wrap around himself, wanking himself off faster and faster as his thighs start to cramp.

 

He’s almost at crescendo when the sharp sound of his ringtone pierces through the fog of his brain. He’s tempted to let it ring out, but after squinting to read the caller ID, he leans forwards and reaches to grab it, scrabbling as he tries to answer the call with sweaty hands.

 

Harry slaps at Nick’s chest so that he stops moving, mouthing a quick _sorry_ as he slides the green circle across the screen.

 

‘Hello?’ He near-pants before cringing and trying desperately to breathe like someone not seconds away from coming.

 

‘Harry Styles? It’s Louis Tomlinson-’ Harry just manages to stop himself from saying _I know_ and exposing the fact that he did the unthinkable and stole his number from Nick’s phone. ‘About the job,’

 

He pauses and Harry slaps Nick’s chest when he starts rocking up into him again, waiting on bated breath for him to continue.

 

‘Would you be able to start this coming Friday?’

 

Harry’s nodding before he even finishes speaking, breaking out into a grin. ‘Of course,’ he exclaims breathily, hoping it’s not noticeable over the phone.

 

‘Fantastic! Either El or I will be in contact with you within the next few days.’

 

‘Thank you so much Mr Tomlinson.’ Harry hopes he doesn’t come across rude for his quickly he ends the call, but the thought is pushed to the back of his mind when he grins down at Nick, one which Nick matches before he takes hold of Harry again and bounces him in his lap until Harry’s eyes roll back and his toes curl.

 

 

 

 

'Do you still have your old French text book?'

 

Zayn stares at him. 'Of course, I take my ninth year French textbook with me everywhere. Don't you?'

 

He'll have to look online then. 'Maths textbook? English?'

 

'In the safe with all my valuables.'

 

Harry sends him a withering look. 'Don't take the piss, this is serious.'

 

Zayn flops down at the foot of his bed. Harry kicks his foot out towards his face, but Zayn grabs him by the ankle. 'Sorry, babes. Why the sudden interest in my school books?'

 

'I have to teach Libby basic English, maths, and French,' he pushes his laptop off his lap and onto the bed next to him, 'I'm stressing a bit.'

 

'You're brilliant at English, and you did quite well in maths,' Zayn supplies, encouragingly, holding Harry's foot still and massaging his thumbs into his arch.

 

Harry groans at the feeling. 'Doesn't mean I'm not stressed about it.'

 

Zayn changes the subject. 'What else do you have to do?'

 

'Feed, clothe, tidy, teach, comfort, support, transport, encourage. That sort of thing,'

 

'That's a lot of verbs.'

 

'It's a verb-filled job but somebody's gotta do it,' Harry jests, humming happily from the foot rub.

 

Zayn, deeming Harry to be massaged enough, sets his foot down on the mattress and props his head up on his palm. 'You're only going to be home on weekends,' Zayn says after the long stretch of comfortable silence. Harry looks down at him with a smug grin.

 

'You gonna miss me, Malik?'

 

Zayn rolls his eyes. 'Yeah, I'm definitely gonna miss you hogging the bathroom and eating all my cereal.'

 

Harry tries to stick his toe up his nose but Zayn bats him away and pins his leg down.

 

'You're going to miss me when you realise that laundry doesn't magically do itself, and that coffee doesn't just appear on the counter for you to drink,'

 

'How ever will I survive?'

 

Harry rolls his eyes and pulls his laptop back onto his chest, clicking through the multiple tabs of nanny research he has open in preparation. He gets distracted by Facebook, scrolling down his newsfeed absent-mindedly.

 

'Of course I'm going to miss you, H,' Zayn murmurs, tracing his finger up and down his calf. Harry tilts his screen down so that he can peer at him over the top of it.

 

Zayn smiles bashfully, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Harry blows him a kiss.

 

 

 

 

Harry tries to pay very serious attention to the email. He reads over his expected duties over and over, committing them to memory for what must be the zillionith. Feed, clean, educate, entertain, ad nauseam. He skims over the contract and NDA one last time before signing.

 

It’s been nothing but documents being emailed back and forth since he’s been hired by the Calder-Tomlinsons. He’s signed so many things he’s stopped paying full attention, and his mum has had to email him scans of documents he didn’t even know he had.

 

He’s been preparing like mad, holed up in his room all week and agonising over the first draft of the contract and bookmarking Buzzfeed Parents articles and looking up Jamie Oliver recipes and doing Beginner’s French exercises online and reading up on child psychology and learning how to tie to the perfect bow and it’s all too much and he feels like his head is going to switch off. He feels like he’s overridden his brain with information and stress, so when Eleanor had emailed him the finalised contract and NDA he’d just felt relief.

 

Maybe he’s not being as thorough as he should be, but he just can’t bear to spend another night agonising over all the different ways he can fuck this opportunity up. He just can’t.

 

‘I’m done!’ Harry near shouts, taking a photo of his signature and emailing it to himself before opening up both the contract and NDA in PowerPoint to paste his signature onto. He feels overwhelmingly satisfied, knowing that all the t’s have finally been crossed and the i’s have finally been dotted. ‘Can we go now, please?’

 

‘Calm down,’ Zayn teases, walking out from his room with the accompanying waft of Gucci following after him.

 

‘I’ve got cabin fever Zayn, I can’t calm down.’

 

‘You went to get milk and bread yesterday, Harry, that’s hardly cabin fever.’

 

Harry doesn’t bother arguing and rather just focuses on getting him out the flat so that they don’t keep their Uber driver waiting.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

When Harry was five, he was chosen to play the Angel Gabriel in his church’s annual nativity. All the little children had to wear the same angel costume, except for him. His was white and gold and he got to wear a pair of wings that he will swear to his grave were real angel wings (even if his mum’s photographs suggest that they bore a closer resemblance to cardboard covered in some feathers, rather than those of an angel.)

 

He practised his one line all week, and the entire ride to the church, and the entire time he was getting ready. He was prepared and ready to outshine everyone else. Except, when he was finally onstage, about to say his line, he’d looked out into the audience, and he was overcome by extreme nerves. He’d stuttered out something unintelligible, before he’d promptly wet himself.

 

There have only been a handful of times since that he’s felt a similar sense of nerves, such as asking Rebecca Johnston to be his date to his leaver’s formal. He never would have expected to feel the same degree of nerves standing on the cement steps of Libby’s reception.

 

He fiddles with his ring and leans back against the half wall as he watches the front doors like a hawk. It’s her last day before summer holidays, says Eleanor’s email. Today, from what he gathers, is a test run for him.

 

He’s to pick Libby up and take her home and hopefully form a magical bond. He swallows the lump in his throat and raises his arms slightly to stop sweat stains forming.

 

The doors open and little children stampede out. Harry watches two middle-aged women in cardigans try to herd them back inside, but their efforts are pointless as little ones scamper across the car park to their familiar cars, consumed by their excitement.

 

Harry isn’t the only one waiting on the steps, and he has familiarised himself with the photograph of Libby, but he’s still weary of the possibility of Libby slipping past him in search of her old nanny.

 

As the herd starts to thin out, and the frazzled women manage to return a handful of children to the safety of the reception, Harry spots Libby, engaged in energetic conversation with a little blonde girl.

 

She looks as big as his pinkie finger, with long brown hair tied back in a neat ponytail, and the brightest blue eyes. The red ribbon in her hair, and her little red dress and red sandals, match her rosy cheeks. Harry feels five again, standing in front of his entire village, as he climbs the steps to make his way toward where she’s obediently waiting in the foyer.

 

One of the mummish women stops him, giving him a bright smile that falters at the corners and suggests a great need for a break. ‘Oh, um, I’m here to collect Libby?’

 

She waves him past, deciding he’s not much a threat, and he’s free to approach the young girl.

 

‘Libby?’ He asks gently, standing behind her. She stops talking and turns to face him, looking up at him. She blinks slowly and the smile that was on her face disappears. ‘I’m Harry, I’m here to fetch you.’

 

She sucks her lower lip into her mouth before extending a hand for him to shake like some American businessman. She says goodbye to her friend in hushed tones and wanders off to the left. He follows behind her at a safe distance, watching her stand on her tiptoes to reach for a blue backpack in the top row of cubby-holes, from the box with a name tag stating LIBBY in neat capital letters.

 

She doesn’t speak to him, just takes his hand and leads him out of the building and down the stairs, pausing uncertainly before Harry takes the lead to guide her towards his Range Rover. He opens the backseat door for her and helps her climb in, buckling her into Lux’s old car seat and resting her bag on the floor in front of her, but not before skimming his eyes over the smirking face of Elsa printed on the front.

 

Once he’s buckled in and started the engine, he loads the Disney mix he’d made in preparation and clicks to the _Frozen_ section of songs. He gives himself a pat on the back when Libby starts singing along with Anna, staring out of her window as Harry watches her in his rear-view.

 

It’s still early enough in the day for there to be no Friday-rush traffic yet, so Harry stops stressing about her rumoured low tolerance for long drives, and rather sighs with relief as he pulls up to the house, right as the frown on Libby’s face indicates that she’s probably had more than her fill of time in the car for the day.

 

She holds still and watches his hands as he unbuckles her, frowning with concentration while Harry wills the slight tremor of nerves in his fingers to please fuck off and let him not make a fool of himself. He near sags in relief when he gets her unbuckled, able to slip his hands under her arms and hoist her out of the car blinking up at Harry when he sets her down on the ground, before bolting and running up the pathway to the shiny blue door.

 

Harry picks up her _Frozen_ backpack, slinging it over his arm and walking up the gravel path himself, to reach where Libby jumps to reach the brass door-knocker, standing on her tippy toes to cling to the ring before knocking it against the metal plate. He dares not break the bond between Libby and the gilded lion.

 

Marta opens the door in no more than twenty seconds, face lighting up as she bends to be eye-level with Libby. ‘Hello there, young madam. How can I help you?’

 

Libby squeals before ramming herself against her legs, wrapping her arms around her knees to hug her hello. Marta strokes her hair as Libby rubs her cheek against her skirt, before she’s hoisting her up onto her hip, carrying her inside and through to the kitchen.

 

Harry follows after, closing the door and instantly feeling out of place against the backdrop of polished floors and cream walls, framed family prints hanging on the walls beside a large mirror mounted above an oak end table that holds framed photographs and a vase of peach-coloured lilies. The contrast of his scuffed boots and ripped jeans is almost comical.

 

He means to take Libby’s bag up to her bedroom, but finds the house more confusing than Eleanor’s email let on. He wonders around a bit before finally stumbling upon a door with LIBBY spelled out in pink wooden letters stuck on the door. He edges into the large bedroom unsurely, feeling a wave of jealousy for other little girls the world over. Her bedroom is the stuff of 5 year old Gemma’s wildest dreams, predominately pink and cream. He sets her backpack at the foot of her bed, among a menagerie of stuffed animals. Marta’s set out a different pair of lace-up trainers and a powder blue mac for their excursion later, along with an adorable Little Mermaid shopper that has about a million little pouches on the front, each little pocket holding butterfly clips and the like. Harry himself has got a brand new Barbie colouring in book and a set of Colleen pencils in his bag.

 

Returning downstairs proves to be easier, and he easily finds Libby in front of the television with Mickey Mouse, gleefully munching on neat triangles of jam toast and identical slices of apple. Highly conscious of the click of his heels against the floor and not wanting to disturb the scene, Harry gingerly walks on the balls of his feet to sit down on the edge of the couch cushion behind her, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at the back of her head as she watches Mickey count ducks.

 

He feels uneasy, like a puzzle piece that clearly doesn’t fit. He feels like a bull in a china shop, or like Snow White trying to fit into the dwarf-sized home.

 

It doesn’t get better as the day progresses. Harry sits with her in the living room watching _Charlie and Lola_ for ages, before going upstairs and helping her get dressed for their quick trip to the park.

 

Libby runs off the second she catches sight of the swings, leaving Harry to wander after her and keep an eye on her as she flies higher and higher in the tyre swing. He thinks the trip the park was an overall success, but Libby still doesn’t seem to like or trust him much. He’d spends the rest of the afternoon playing with her up in her bedroom and trying to get on her good side. Playing might be a bit generous, because he mostly sits back and toys with the Ken doll Libby shoved at him, watching Libby dress her Barbie’s and voice their conversations.

 

He doesn’t give up, however, putting in the effort to make her a small cottage pie for supper while she sits in front of the television with her new colouring books after Marta’s left for the day. She seems to enjoy it, thanking him once she’s polished off her serving.

 

Afterwards, Harry guides her back upstairs for her bath, and then into her pyjamas, and finally into bed. He tucks her in and leaves the light of her connected bathroom on. He’s under instruction to put Disc 1 of Roald Dahl’s _The BFG_ into her radio, and she seems to practically nod off from the action alone. He lingers in the doorway until her breathing slows, fast asleep.

 

He feels like he’s in _The Twilight Zone_ as he tries to familiarise himself with the house, empty but himself and Libby. Everything looks too perfect, like it’s a set for Ideal Home. He finds his way back to the kitchen before he somehow manages to upset the balance.

 

He’s grateful when Eleanor arrives, her presence feeling like a welcoming hug rather than making him feel nervous. She greats him cheerily, putting the kettle on and toeing off her velvet smoking slippers in favour of slipping on the pair of fluffy pink Ted Baker slippers (the same pair that Zayn narrowly convinced him not to buy online a few weeks ago next) that are set neatly next to the Aga.

 

‘I’m just going to have some green tea, would you like a cup?’ She asks over her shoulder as opens one of the cabinets and pulls out two mugs.

 

‘That would be lovely,’ Harry responds, on his best behaviour. It’s silent between the two of them, but the loud hum of boiling water diffuses the awkwardness, and for the first time, Harry feels himself relax slightly.

 

‘Did she go down okay?’

 

‘Very well, actually. I was quite surprised.’ He stares at her back a moment longer before he decides to admit, ‘I’m not sure she likes me.’

 

‘Don’t worry, she’s just very shy. It always takes her a while to warm up to new people, is all.’

 

Harry bites his thumbnail. He’ll take her word for it.

 

Their conversation lulls back into silence as Eleanor pops a tea bag in each mug, then fills them with boiling water. She offers to give him the full tour and show him to where he’ll be staying. Harry accepts his tea and her offer, cradling the mug between his palms and following after her as she guides him through the house, providing enough commentary for the pair of them.

 

They come full circle, back to the kitchen, before she decides to take him outside to see the garden and his room – a nice little granny flat add-on. She leads him out of the kitchen, past the dining room table and out the French doors. Across the patio and onto the grass, he walks after her and his boots crunch on the stone path down the side of the garden. She pulls a key out of her back pocket and stops. She gestures to the door before them, ‘This is your room.’

 

She hands him the key before opening and stepping inside, walking into a small-ish room, dominated by a double bed in the centre. It’s not the dingy dungeon-esque dormitory situation he feared.

 

‘En suite, wardrobe, et cetera,’ Eleanor explains, before facing him again. ‘Do you like it?’

 

‘It’s lovely,’ Harry replies, fully meaning it. It’s probably nicer than his room at home.

 

‘Some rules: please keep your space tidy, warn us if you wish to have guests over, and try not to be too loud. But other than that, it’s all yours.’

 

She stands back and lets Harry move around the room to get a feel of it. He pokes his head into the bathroom and opens up the wardrobe.

 

‘You can bring in any furniture if you want, and if you want to paint the walls or something, know that I will make you repaint them before you leave even if I have to track you down,’ She teases, fiddling with the drawers on the dresser.

 

‘I would expect nothing less,’ Harry tells her.

 

 

 

 

Monday morning starts with Harry’s alarm going off at 6.05, shortly followed by 6.15, and finally 6.25. He groans, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes as his eyebrows draw together to ease at the tension resting across his forehead.

 

The he stretches his arms upwards, open palms facing the ceiling as he spreads his fingers and points his toes. A slow smile spreads as he stretches, and a hum rumbles from his chest. He lets his arms flop down beside him and stares up at the hairline crack a moment before sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

 

With the help of a twist to each side and a backwards stretch to open up his body, Harry lets out a long yawn. He curls his toes against the soft carpet as he counts down from 3, pushing himself to stand when he reaches 1.

 

He’s parked outside the house at 7 am, prompt, freshly showered and ready to tackle the day. He takes his bag down to his room and leaves it at the foot of his bed before making his way to the kitchen.

 

He retrieves Libby’s lunch box from the drying rack and sets it down on the granite worktop. In it, he places one apricot-jam sandwich, a mixed-berry fruit bar, one nectarine, and a Caramello Bear. Her lunchbox, along with her water bottle, gets packed into the pink tote hanging on a hook in the scullery.

 

He puts two slices of bread in the toaster and boils the kettle before going to wake her up. He eases her bedroom door open and pads towards her bed, crouching down beside her before he rests his hand on her shoulder.

 

‘Libby,’ he says soothingly, squeezing her shoulder lightly, ‘Time to wake up.’ It’s only after he strokes over her hair gently that her eyes open, blinking up at him with her big baby-blues. Harry smiles down at her, giving her space to sit up.

 

She’s quiet as she rejects Harry’s help in getting out of bed, shuffling past him sleepily to her bathroom. Harry stays back as she climbs onto the yellow step in front of the basin, reaching for her toothbrush. While she brushes, Harry sets out making her bed and setting out clothing. He places a white leotard on the bedspread, along with a pink ballet-jersey, peach-coloured stockings, and ballet shoes.

 

He guides Libby to sit on the edge of the bed and hold out her foot as he gathers up the first leg of her stockings, helping her into them so that they don’t ladder. She shimmies into her leotard before Harry passes her jersey to her.

 

‘Help, please.’ Her request is accompanied by her holding out the ties of her jersey for Harry to take, waiting patiently as he ties them in a bow. Once dressed, she returns to the bathroom with Harry in tow, climbing onto her step and passing a wooden hairbrush back to Harry.

 

Brushing Libby’s hair makes him think back to when he was little, watching Gemma brush her Barbie’s hair with tiny plastic brushes, feeling consumed with jealousy as she ignored him in favour of her dolls. Libby’s hair is long and silky, thankfully knotless so that Harry doesn’t have to face the possibility of hurting her. He gathers her hair in one hand, tying it up in a neat ponytail.

 

He reaches for another hair tie, but Libby makes a sound of distress as she stares at her reflection with genuine discomfort. ‘There’s a bubble,’ she explains, only aiding to Harry’s confusion until she pulls at the lock of hair that arcs above the rest of her hair. ‘Please do it again.’

 

Harry apologises, pulling out the hair tie before making his second attempt. Libby watches him like a hawk until he manages to get her hair perfectly smooth. Her frown eases, apparently deciding Harry’s done a good enough job to not warrant any further scrutiny as he twists her pony into a bun, securing it with another hair tie and two hairpins.

 

She climbs into the car obediently and tries to buckle herself in before she lets Harry just do it for her, looking past him and humming to herself softly until he starts the car. It’s a 3 song drive to her ballet school, one which he spends singing along with Libby under his breath.

 

The ballet school is actually a converted Georgian townhouse, the face of which is all black brick and makes it look like a Downing Street cast-off. Inside is just as posh, and Harry can practically feel the presence of a moody Royal Ballet graduate.

 

He, along with the other mums and caretakers, are shooed by the moody Royal Ballet graduate instructing the class, and they get to watch from fold-out chairs at the back. He might be biased, but he's sure that Libby is one of the best in the class. She transitions positions smoothly, does an impeccable job of skipping across the room, and never once does her clapping while marching falter.

 

Harry gathers that they are preparing for some sort of performance or other, changing over from general practice to performance practice in the last five minutes. He's not sure, but he thinks Libby might be a fish in it.

 

Once safely buckled into her car seat, Harry gives her the smaller of her two lunch boxes for the drive to her swimming class. It takes about forty minutes to get there, there being a giant bubble jutting out of the ground. He parks the car uncertainly as he eyes the bubble suspiciously, certain he's got the address right but weary regarding the fact that it is a bubble. He'd ask Libby, but he's certain he wouldn't get an answer.

 

He unbuckles her, helping her out of the car and chasing after her as she sprints across the dewy lawn to the giant marshmallow. Harry grimaces just thinking about the combination of mud, ballet shoes, and peach stockings. He follows Libby through the "entrance" – a tent-like zip – and is immediately overcome by extreme damp warmth.

 

It takes a frantic moment to spot Libby, sprinting down alongside the Olympic sized pool as fast as her little legs will carry her to get changed, ignoring the fact that Harry has her bag full of swimming stuff.

 

Once he’s caught up and handed over her clothing, he’s dismissed to sit on the stands by himself with only his phone and the overwhelming scent of chlorine to keep him company.

 

Libby splashes around like a puppy in the swimming pool, with all her different strokes strangely resembling doggy paddle. He watches her dutifully, but finds swimming nowhere near as captivating as her ballet, and can’t help pulling out his phone and scrolling through Instagram. The strong smell of chlorine and damp, along with the shrill screams of little swimmers reverberating around the enclosed space, ensure that Harry has a headache by the end of the hour.

 

Libby skips off to the changing rooms without a care once her lesson is done, and Harry decides it’s probably best to follow just in case. He hangs around, watching a swim teacher paddling about with a little toddler and a paddle board. Libby clears her throat with a loud _ahem_ , prompting Harry to spin around quickly to face her.

 

‘Can you do my laces, please?’ Harry looks down at her trainers, laces limp and untied, sodden from being dragged through the puddles of pool water on the floor. He drops down to a crouch so fast that he wobbles in an effort not to fall over onto the wet ground.

 

Libby taps her feet while Harry ties her laces into bows, feeling a slight frustration as she refuses to stay still. Libby says a cheery goodbye to her coach before they leave, once again blitzing away from him across the grass to reach his car, where she pulls at the locked door handle impatiently.

 

Harry opens her door and helps her in, buckling her up as she wriggles about. He puts on his Disney mix loud so that she sings along, making a note to take a paracetamol as soon as they stop.

 

Once they arrive back home he accompanies Libby up to her room to put her down for her nap. She looks like she wants to throw a tantrum, but in the end doesn’t put up a fight. Harry chalks that down to her still not feeling comfortable enough with him to disobey just yet.

 

 

 

 

 ‘Good day so far?’

 

Harry startles at the voice but catches himself quickly, plastering a smile onto his face. It’s his first time seeing Louis again since his interview, and his stomach still swoops. ‘I suppose,’ he says to Louis, ‘She fussed a little about going down for a nap, but otherwise fine.’ He decides not to mention Libby’s apparent disdain for him.

 

Louis gives him an easy grin. He’s sweating, covered in a faint glow. He brushes past Harry to get to the tap, filling up his water bottle before setting it down and splashing himself in the face. Harry watches from behind as he pulls his tank up to wipe himself before turning back to Harry and offering another smile as farewell.

 

Harry’s mouth runs dry, and he’s left alone again.

 

 

 

 

He lies awake, staring up at the trimming of the ceiling, etched with tiny fleur de lis. It’s stiflingly quiet, the only sound that Harry can hear to accompany his breathing being the low hum of the trunk freezer. It seems that he’s come to need Zayn’s music seeping through the walls to lull him to sleep, and now, without the lullaby of his roommates’ noise or external on-goings, Harry’s trapped in a state of restlessness.

 

He tries to spot a flaw somewhere in his room; searching for a peeling edge of wallpaper, or discoloured door hinge, Harry eventually gives up, coming to the conclusion that his room is just as seamless as the rest of the household. It’s unnerving, lying in the middle of his bed and eyeing his weekend bag where it’s sat on the chair of the dressing table, his clothing spilling out the side in an impression of Harry the morning after. He feels out of place, the bedsheets still crisp and cold in a clinical hug around his body, towels folded neatly on the dresser, the dish of pot-pourri looking just as lively as the bunch of buttery jonquils.

 

The more Harry thinks about it, the more unsettled he feels, and the further away he drifts from sleep. The knowledge that he needs to be up at half six and that each minute awake is only ensuring that he’s going to have awful bags in morning doesn’t help either.

 

With a groan, he rolls over onto his side, reaching for his phone where it’s charging on bedside table. Right now, all he really wants is a good fuck. Nothing puts him to bed like a good orgasm, and the thought alone as warmth starting to pool in his belly. He opens his messages, opening his last chat with Nick and scrolling up a bit until the last time Harry couldn’t sleep. Just skimming his eyes over Nick’s messages is enough to make his breathing quicken, the picture of Nick’s big hand wrapped around his equally big cock being the kicker that makes him whimper, thumb hovering over the text block to type out a quick _you up? X_

 

He’s about to press send when he rolls onto his back, letting his phone clatter to the floor as he throws his forearm over his eyes and suppresses the urge to groan in frustration.

 

God, it’s only his first night, he can’t be sexting and getting off in a bed that isn’t even _his_ right from the start.

 

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, holds it, then out through his mouth, before leaning over the bed to pick up his phone. He closes the text and instead opens Safari to Google tricks to make him sleep.

 

Or at least he intends to, but that plan halts in its tracks when Harry is faced with the last thing he searched still open in the tab. God, he’s unprofessional and just generally awful, but after running into Louis in the kitchen, the first thing he’d done was search _Louis Tomlinson Crazy shirtless_ as a reward to himself. Louis must’ve been just over twenty at the time, too new to acting to turn his nose up at gaudy roles. It’s a travesty largely overlooked and forgotten in favour of his streams of successful blockbusters over the past decade, but it’s been a star performer in Harry’s spank bank since his balls dropped.

 

The film itself is awful, bad cinematography and plot and dialogue paired with what was probably aiming to embody the feel of the pool scene in the _Secret of My Success_ , but ended up looking more Euro-porn than anything else. But there is the redeeming factor that Louis Tomlinson plays the part of the young tryst, spending all his screen time gloriously topless.

 

Harry has a flyaway thought about Louis re-enacting the film now, the scene where he fucks his lover in the shower in particular, and has to hold in a whimper. He wants nothing more than to text Nick, maybe even call Ben and listen to his warm voice as he ruts into the mattress, but instead, he closes the tab, locks his phone and sets it face-down, before rolling over to face the wall.

 

He squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself to sleep.

 

 

 

 

Wednesday morning finds Harry in the corner of the study, fiddling with his phone while Libby tunes her violin with the aid of her music teacher, Ferida. Said teacher had arrived bright and early, carrying a colourful plastic crate full of music instruments and music books, jingling like a Morris dancer.

 

It’s nice, just sitting and listening to Ferida play for a bit. He’s had two straight nights of poor sleep, and two days full of activity with a bizarrely polite little girl that feel more like UN meetings from all the strained civil tolerance.

 

He’s only caught glimpses of the elusive Calder-Tomlinsons, so the brunt of his social interaction for the day is either with a 5 year old or his phone. The experience is a lot lonelier than he could have ever anticipated, but he feels he doesn’t have the space to complain.

 

‘Do you have a minute?’

 

Harry’s jolted out of his thoughts with the graze of a touch on his shoulder. He whips around to face Louis, hunched over him and smiling like the sun. He looks back at Libby, going at her violin with gusto and a red face, before looking back at her father. ‘Yeah, what d’you need?’

 

Louis waves a hand for Harry to follow him before he disappears from the room. Harry rushes to stand and trail after him, through the French doors and onto the patio. Louis waves him over where he’s already seated himself to the right, under the shade of the pergola on one of the daybeds.

 

He sits down opposite Louis, so that he’s facing the house and he can see through the windows, to where Libby’s teacher flinches at each bum note.

 

‘I was wondering if you would be willing to run lines with me.’

 

Harry tears his eyes away from Libby and back to Louis. ‘Sure, no problem.’

 

Louis sets a thick bound, booklet down on the coffee table between them. Harry, sensing he’s going to be here more than a minute, toes off his tennis shoes and sits back, so he can cross his legs and lean back against the back of the couch before he picks up the script.

 

‘I only come in on page 12, so we can start there, if you don’t mind.’

 

‘What’s it about?’

 

Louis looks up him, seeing that Harry’s still got his copy closed in his lap. ‘You’ll see. Page 12?’

 

‘Not until you tell me what it’s about,’ Harry teases, leaving the script closed.

 

‘You’d know if you turned to the bloody twelfth page.’ He mutters it under his breath, but loud enough for Harry to know it’s in jest, so he sticks his tongue out, before looking back down at the script.

 

He runs his index finger over **THE MINISTRY OF UNGENTLEMANLY WARFARE (SUBJECT TO CHANGE)** emblazoned on the title page, then looks up at Louis from under his eyelashes, waiting for an answer.

 

Louis sighs but lounges back and sets his script aside. Harry grins at his win. ‘I haven’t quite finished it yet, so I don’t know the ending -’

 

‘Doesn’t matter, tell me anyway,’

 

‘I would if you would stop interrupting me,’ Harry sticks his tongue out through his teeth, ‘You’re impossible.’ Harry zips his lips, earning himself a breathy chuckle before Louis starts to explain. ‘Basically, the story is based off this group of secret agents from the second World War. It was set up by Winston Churchill and recruited a tonne of people, including Ian Fleming.’

 

Harry raises an eyebrow. ‘Is this the plot or the inspiration?’

 

‘It’s the inspiration. It was a real place on Baker Street that was like, the first group to allow women into the field of espionage. I’m still a bit foggy on the details, but basically it was like James Bond for the common man.’

 

‘Okay, so tell me what happens?’

 

‘Basically, my character is the brother of one of the top agents, but he is presumed dead and then my character takes his place. That’s why I have to bulk up so that I can closer resemble my brother.’ He sighs when he says the last bit, clearly not pleased by his fitness regime.

 

‘Who’s playing the brother?’

 

‘Tom Hardy.’

 

‘Christ. Then what?’

 

‘You know, the usual. Falling in love with powerful leader’s fiancé, betraying allies, kick-ass battle scenes.’

 

‘That sounds incredible, can’t wait to see it.’

 

‘You never will if we don’t make it past the fucking twelfth –‘

 

‘Page, yes I know. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.’ Harry flips to page 12 with great flourish. ‘Who am I?’

 

‘You’re everyone, except for Christian. Until I become Arthur, then you’re everyone but him.’

 

It’s a bit unfair that he has to juggle a million roles because Harry has no dramatic training and doesn’t quite enjoy how much Louis laughs at him when he’s trying to be serious. They only make it to page 29, which Harry thinks is good progress while Louis thinks it's quite poor, but Louis has other places to be, people to see.

 

Louis checks his phone and groans as he reads the multiple messages he’s received in half an hour, making eye contact with Harry and rolling his eyes as he mutters, ‘I’ve got a session with my trainer in ten minutes.’ Harry shakes his head in sympathy, feeling abundantly pleased to be in on a joke with Louis Tomlinson.

 

They go their separate ways, Harry back to Libby and Louis off to do whatever important people do. Harry spends the rest of the day thinking about Louis’ laugh.

 

 

 

 

 ‘Do you think maybe you could put them down while I dress you?’ Harry is referring to the two Barbies that Libby has insisted on holding all day.

 

Libby looks at him like he’s the daftest person on earth. ‘No.’ is the clipped reply Harry gets. They’ve had a busy day of ballet lessons and practising for her performance on Friday, followed by a trip to the movies, and Harry feels run-down and not himself, but Libby seems to be warming up to him ever so slowly and it’s enough to keep him positive.

 

‘Right, sorry. That would be ridiculous.’

 

Harry undoes the buttons of her dress, being extra careful as he tries to get Libby’s arms, hands, and extended plastic appendages through the armholes of the dress, and then through the sleeves of her pyjamas. The perfect smiling faces of each doll stare at Harry obliviously as he buttons up her pyjama top as if they have no idea what an inconvenience they’re being.

 

‘Can you put them down to brush your teeth?’ Libby gives him a look. ‘Of course not, how silly of me to ask,’ he mutters as he goes to get her toothbrush. Libby holds onto her Barbie’s until he’s tucking her in, her arms resting on top of the covers and her hair neatly plaited.

 

Harry sits at the foot of Libby’s bed, waiting until she’s snuggled in and comfortable to open to the first page. Libby mentioned her love of Harry Potter, so Harry’s decided to read her the series before bed, starting with _The Philosopher’s Stone_.

 

‘Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much,’ Harry reads. Libby watches him with rapt – albeit sleepy – attention as reads, making sure to enunciate each word so to lull her to sleep.

 

He reads to page 8 when Libby looks near sleep with Barbie’s still tightly clutched in her fists as she tries to keep her eyes open. Harry makes a note of the page number, and that he needs to find a bookmark. He sets the book down on Libby’s chest of drawers. Harry puts in _The BFG_ and makes sure the bathroom light is on before turning off her bedside lamp.

 

‘Harry?’ She asks as soon as the light’s gone off. Harry switches it back on, smiling down at the little girl, absolutely swathed in her big princess bed. ‘I can’t-’ she brings one doll closer to her face and presses her thumb to her lips.

 

Harry nods in understanding. ‘Do you want me to put one away?’ Libby frowns and shakes her head. ‘Do you want me to cut off your thumb?’

 

Libby is the picture of an exasperation, sighing and rolling her eyes like Harry’s the biggest idiot she’s ever encountered before fixing him with a look. ‘Please look after Sophia.’

 

Harry is honestly shocked, but he keeps his face schooled in an expression of casual indifference. ‘Of course, Libby, it would be an honour.’

 

Libby passes him the doll in her right hand, Sophia, before offering him a shy smile and rolling onto her side. Harry accepts the plastic ballerina Barbie, reaching to stroke Libby’s hair before he turns off her light for the second time.

 

He waits until he’s pulled her door almost-closed to inspect the toy in his hands. Her blues eyes stare at him vacantly, bright pink lips pulled into a fixed smile that reminds him of Eleanor. It’s just a doll, but its progress.

 

 

 

 

Harry wakes up with his first alarm on Friday and stares at the ceiling until the next one goes off. He drags himself out of bed and into the shower, opting to not wash his hair so that he’ll have more time to get dressed.

 

He makes sure to look nice for Libby’s recital, deciding to wear a pair of jeans that don’t have any visible rips and a cream shirt.

 

He knows that Louis isn’t coming to watch, but Eleanor is, so he frowns upon entering the silent house. He can’t hear anyone, and it’s only when he walks into the kitchen that he sees why. On the counter sits an ominous notepad.

 

Upon further inspection, he sees that it’s a note from Eleanor, apologising and excusing herself from Libby’s dance. Harry’s stomach drops, knowing that he’s the one who has to tell Libby that neither of her parents are going to make it to see her dance.

 

With that in mind, he decides to make her French toast for breakfast which he takes to her bedroom. He wakes her up and waits until she’s started eating to tell her. Her face falls, and she doesn’t look at him before getting out of bed and going to brush her own teeth.

 

‘Do you want to put on your costume?’ Harry asks gently, hovering in the doorframe. Libby shakes her head and spits after only half a minute. ‘Will you get dressed there?’

 

Libby doesn’t answer him and rather pushes past him to get back to her bedroom. She stomps over to her cupboard and sits down on the floor to force her feet into her wellies.

 

‘Do you want to wear your pyjamas?’

 

He gets the silence again, and he knows he shouldn’t accept it, but he doesn’t have the heart to try to discipline the clearly heartbroken little girl.

 

Libby reaches into her cupboard and tugs on all her coats until one gives and falls off the hanger, allowing her to pull her mustard pea-coat on over her pyjamas and stomp out her room without another word.

 

Harry makes sure he has everything he and Libby need before going out to the car, seeing Libby aggressively and frustratedly pulling on the car door-handle. ‘Open!’ she shrieks, struggling to try and force it open.

 

Harry unlocks the car and stands back as Libby finally flings the door open and tackles her way into the car and into her seat, practically frothing at the mouth.

 

He makes sure that she’s buckled in safely before closing her door and going round the back of the car to climb into the driver’s seat. He hesitates after starting the engine, both hands resting on the wheel as he looks at Libby in the rear-view mirror.

 

‘She said she would try her best to be here.’

 

Libby doesn’t look angry anymore, just sad, nodding forlornly and turning to stare out the window. She’s silent the entire drive, thumb tucked in her mouth and refusing to sing even when Harry puts on _Let It Go_. She doesn’t put up any fight when Harry unbuckles her and carries her inside the building, keeping her cheek against his shoulder and staring into space.

 

The front door of her school is open, so Harry enters and goes straight for the staircase, walking past the open doors that lead into the living room that is now filled with chairs and parents. He gets a bit lost when he finds her class empty, assuming they must be getting ready somewhere else. He hugs Libby tighter as he turns from the empty passageway into another empty room, listening out for voices or music of some sort.

 

He feels great relief when he spots a young girl, no older than 14, with brown hair in a neat bun and wearing a sparkly white tutu, coming out of the loo. ‘Sorry!’ he calls after her, walking faster to reach her, ‘Do you know where we’re meant to go?’

 

Libby turns her head to look at the girl. The girl smiles at her, so that her brown eyes sparkle, and Libby lets her thumb drop from her mouth to reciprocate the bright smile. ‘I think I might,’ she says, eyes never straying from Libby, ‘You can follow me.’

 

Libby just about wriggles out of his arms until Harry sets her down and lets her scamper after the girl. He’s still got her ballet bag, so he follows behind the pair, feeling a slight ache when Libby reaches up to hold the girl’s hand and walks quickly to match her pace. He tells himself it’s because Libby thinks she’s tall and sparkly, not because she looks a bit like Eleanor.

 

The girls takes them up to the third floor loft where the rest of Libby’s class is, then turns to leave. Libby watches after her as she retreats back down the staircase, her face falling slightly.

 

‘Come on, let’s look for Savannah,’ he tries to comfort, nudging her into the room. It smells like hairspray and gel, and everything is pink and sparkly. Little girls chatter excitedly with each other while parents try to get them dressed.

 

They find her blonde friend, Savannah, in the far corner, sitting on a chair as an elderly woman ties her hair in a tight ponytail. Libby bounds over to her once she’s spotted, leaving Harry to slowly make his way through the mess.

 

‘Hi,’ Savannah chirps when he reaches them, chewing on a gummy sweet, ‘This is my Nana.’

 

Like that, she decides she’s had enough of him and refocuses her attention on Libby, offering her a sweet. Harry watches a moment before smiling at her gran, holding out his hand to shake.

 

‘Sorry, hands are a bit full,’ she says with a laugh, looking down to where she’s twisting Savannah’s long blonde hair into a neat bun.

 

‘Right, sorry.’ Harry feels a bit incompetent, like he’s an outsider. An enemy, almost. He sets Libby’s bag down on the floor and crouches down in front of her. ‘Would you like me to do your hair?’

 

Libby chews slowly and stares at her wellies before shaking her head. ‘I want Nana to do it, please.’

 

Harry checks to see if she wouldn’t mind, before he leaves Libby in the custody of Savannah and her gran, looking miles happier than before as she swaps places with Savannah for her hair to be brushed.

 

He finds his way back to the front-room, spying two empty seats near the front. He keeps the seat next to him open, just in case Eleanor manages to make it.

 

Libby’s age group is the first to perform, and she and the rest of her class skip to the front of the room which has been sectioned off as the stage. Her hair is pulled back in a perfect bun, her cheeks tinted pink and her lips painted with silver. She sparkles in her light blue costume, clapping her hands with the rest of her class to the beat of Vivaldi's Spring coming from the iPod docking station while scanning her eyes over the small crowd.

 

Harry waves when she spots him, holding his phone steady to capture her performance. She must notice the empty seat, for she looks away quickly, staring instead at what Harry thinks in Savannah’s family.

 

He feels a sense of pride wash over him as she performs. Even if she hates him, he can’t help but be proud as she twirls and leaps to the music.

 

They run off the stage once they’re done, only to be lead back into the room quietly to watch the big girls dance, sitting on the floor in front of all the parents.

 

As soon as it’s done, Harry goes back to the top floor to collect Libby. She takes one look at him – seeing that he is very much still sans Eleanor – before she turns away from him and starts shoving her pyjamas in with the clothes Harry packed into her little bag. She looks like a kicked puppy.

 

He gathers all her bits and bobs while she says goodbye to Savannah. She lets Harry help her into her pink ballet jersey, lifting her arms slightly so to allow Harry to wrap the ties around her middle, tying them into a neat bow at the back.

 

He can’t stand her sad look, so after receiving permission from both parents, and assurance that he will be reimbursed, he turns left instead of right at the traffic light.

 

What should be a 5 minute drive turns into a 20 minute drive and a bit of hassle trying to find parking. He eventually manages to squeeze in and park outside Victoria Secret, one block over. He thinks being in public does cheer Libby up slightly because of all the looks she gets, tottering along in her sparkly ballet clothes.

 

He thinks he’s made the right decision when she spots their destination, getting frustrated when Harry insists on picking her up and carrying her across the busy road to finally stand in front of the enormous Disney Store.

 

He gives Libby carte blanche once inside, letting her scamper off to explore. He gravitates to the Winnie the Pooh section, stroking the furry bellies of countless yellow bears. He always used to love Pooh Bear, holding the position of his favourite Disney character until he’d fallen in love with Tarzan.

 

He wanders around and feels surprisingly old as he struggles to recognise a number of different characters.

 

He’s admiring the Mickey and friends display when he hears a soft sniffle. He frowns, stepping back and seeing that the semicircle of the base has a hole in each side, turning it into a small play area. He crouches down and peers inside. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to see, but it’s definitely not Libby sitting with her arms wrapped around her legs.

 

‘Libby?’ She barely flinches at the sound of his voice, only turning slightly to face the other side. Harry’s frown deepens before he asses the size of the area, deciding that he can squeeze. He half crawls into the enclosed area, folding up to sit opposite her. ‘What’s wrong?’

 

It’s pretty easy to guess that she’s upset about her concert, but no harm in asking. Libby shakes her head to dismiss his question and curls up smaller. He’s still unsure of her boundaries, but he feels desperate times come for desperate measures, so he takes the plunge and shuffles closer to her, so that he can rest his hand on her shoulder.

 

His simple touch seems to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, because Libby starts wailing, propelling herself at Harry and clinging to him. Harry’s eyes widen, but he’s quick to adapt, stroking down her back and helping rearrange her to make her more comfortable as he coos softly.

 

Her sobs quiet down to hiccoughs and sniffles and Harry lifts her chin so that he can see her face. Her performance make-up is a mess, and her mouth is now is red smudge, the blush on her cheeks streaked from tears, and her eyes resembling that of a panda’s. But at least her bun is still perfect.

 

‘Sorry,’ she whispers, looking at where her make-up has transferred to the front of his t-shirt.

 

‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ he assures, digging around in his back pocket for his baby wipes, ‘now, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’

 

Libby shakes her head and lets Harry wipe her face clean, so that she looks like a little girl and not a porcelain doll. He chooses to respect her wishes, but can’t help telling her, ‘Your mummy loves you so much, and she said she was really so sorry to have missed it. She begged me to record it so that she could see, and she says you can get any toy you want.’

 

It’s a bit of an embellishment, and he knows that he shouldn’t teach her that material objects can make up for hurt feelings, but he thinks she needs it right now. She smiles weakly, making no move to get out of Harry’s lap. He’s not satisfied, however, with a small smile.

 

‘What did the elephant say to the giraffe?’ he asks, watching her smile widen.

 

‘What?’

 

‘Why the long face?’ Out of all the people he’s ever told the joke to, Libby’s reaction is the best. She laughs openly, bright blue eyes and button nose scrunching up.

 

Once Harry’s managed to crawl out of the tiny space, he and Libby explore the store together. She drags him around, chattering about whichever character’s section they stop in and deciding what she wants.

 

She tugs on Harry’s arm until he’s level with her before spraying a cloud of Bambi perfume directly in his face.

 

‘Smell.’

 

He reels back and tries to stifle a coughing fit while smiling down at her. ‘That’s lovely.’

 

They rack up the sort of total Harry only ever reached when he went shopping with Ben, but he doesn’t even flinch because he knows Eleanor said she would take care of it. It also seems like a small price to pay to have Libby smiling again and actually seeming to like him.

 

They have an early lunch just up the street, and while they wait for their orders, Harry lets Libby choose one of her new toys to play with. He helps her unbox her Princess Jasmine doll with a pair of nail scissors, spending the rest of the meal playing with Libby.

 

The drive back is spent singing along at the top of their lungs while Harry brainstorms fun things to do with Libby after her nap, but as soon as Harry parks the car, the front door opens and Marta stands on the front step.

 

Libby starts struggling to unbuckle herself and Harry goes to help her, but Marta advances towards the car and beats him to it. Harry climbs out of the car and goes around the front to see Libby hugging Marta around the middle.

 

‘Hi! I wasn’t expecting to see you so early,’

 

Marta smiles at him and hugs Libby back. ‘I’m a bit early. Will you be off soon?’

 

He wasn’t really planning on it, but if she’s here now then there’s not much point in him staying. ‘Depends if you need to me to stay, I guess.’

 

‘I think we’ll be fine, won’t we Libbs?’ Marta asks, giving Harry a warm smile. ‘You go on and enjoy your weekend.’

 

It’s very sweet actually, but it does make Harry feel a bit defensive. He texts Eleanor asking if it’s okay for him to leave so early on the way to his room and starts stuffing all his clothing and toiletries back into his weekend bag when he receives an affirmative reply.

 

He leaves his room looking exactly how he found it and leaves his bag on the backseat of his car before going back inside to say goodbye to Libby. She gets up to hug him tight, something which absolutely makes his day.

 

He’s closing the front door behind himself when Louis’ car pulls up and parks right next to his. Harry raises his hand in a polite wave while Louis climbs out the car and leans his elbow on the open door. ‘You off?’ He asks, pushing his sunglasses up off his nose to rest on top of his head.

 

‘Yeah–’ he clears his throat and repeats, ‘Yeah. I’ve been given a half day, it seems.’

 

‘Never look a gift horse in the mouth.’ Louis quips, reaching out to squeeze Harry’s shoulder when he brushes past him, ‘Have a good weekend.’

 

Harry tells him the same, offering him another smile before he continues to his car. Once buckled in to the front seat, he notices Louis still standing on the front steps watching him.

 

He raises his hand in a wave before disappearing back into the house. Harry’s been living in his house a week, and it’s only his third time seeing him.

 

 

 

 

It’s only been a week, but it feels strange being back home. It’s empty and quiet, Zayn obviously still on shift. The kitchen is a bit of a mess, as well as the lounge, and Harry doesn’t look into Zayn’s room before going into his own. It’s exactly as he left it, which feels strange, because it feels like he hasn’t been there in forever.

 

He feels exhausted for no real reason and decides to strip down to his pants before climbing into his pyjamas and slipping into bed. He scrolls through Facebook on his laptop while checking Instagram on his phone. He checks his messages and his WhatsApp before he tucks into bed and explores YouTube.

 

He’s nearly asleep, watching a video on Top 10 Cutest Animals, when Zayn gets back. He appears in his doorway and disregards conventional greetings, rather just saying, ‘Get up, we’re going out.’

 

Harry doesn’t have the energy to protest, so he just snuggles deeper into his bed until Zayn comes back. He chucks a pair of jeans on Harry’s bed and then pulls open his cupboard.

 

‘I just want to stay in Zayn, you should be able to understand that.’

 

Zayn pauses before he sags and closes his cupboard again. ‘Teach me to treat my best friend to dinner and a night on the town.’

 

Harry beams at him and moves his laptop aside, patting the mattress beside him. Zayn comes to sit and fits into Harry’s open arms.

 

‘You miss me?’ Harry asks, rubbing his cheek against Zayn’s scratchy stubble.

 

‘Of course not,’ Zayn scoffs, running his hands up his back.

 

He smells nice. He always sprays on some aftershave to get rid of the smell of hospital at the end of the day, but for some reason it smells so much better to Harry at the moment. ‘I missed you.’

 

Zayn cards his fingers through his hair and pulls lightly, so that Harry purrs. ‘We don’t have to go out tonight, but tomorrow your ass is mine,’

 

‘Ooh, kinky.’

 

Zayn pulls away with an eye roll and walks out of his room. ‘I’m just gonna change. Meet me on the couch?’ He calls to Harry, voice trailing away as he goes into his own room.

 

Harry drags himself out of bed and onto the sofa, flopping down with his phone. Zayn sits down against the armrest, pulling Harry to him by his shoulders, so that Harry fits between his legs with his back to Zayn’s chest.

 

Harry sends Nick a text while Zayn skims through channels. Nick bullies him until he gets Harry to agree to let him join them tomorrow. He’s got a lot of other messages that he doesn’t feel in the mood to answer, so he drops his phone down on the couch cushion and rests his hands on Zayn’s knees.

 

‘Anything good on?’

 

‘Nah, everything’s rubbish.’ They settle on _MasterChef_ and snuggle up together. ‘So, how was your week?’

 

‘Alright, I guess. Not too bad, even though she doesn’t seem to like me too much.’

 

‘Who couldn’t love you?’

 

Harry twists to give him a kiss on the cheek. ‘You flatter me. But like, it’s alright. A bit lonely, really,’

 

‘Shame, babes,’ Zayn empathises, squeezing him around the middle comfortingly. ‘What’s it like living with the Royal Couple?’

 

Harry shrugs. He has to think about it a bit before he comes up with an answer. ‘I don’t know. They’re both really lovely, really relaxed and stuff. Just don’t know how to act them. I always feel like a star struck idiot, and I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.’

 

Zayn hums thoughtfully. ‘And living with Louis Tomlinson?’

 

Harry shrugs again. ‘Neither of them are really around much, so I haven’t interacted with either of them lots. I’ve spoken to him a bit, and helped him read through his script, but that’s pretty much it.’

 

‘He’s still hot though, right?’

 

‘Yeah, still very hot,’ Harry affirms wistfully, watching someone fuck up a crème anglaise and trying to banish the image of Louis Tomlinson, post workout.

 

 

 

 

Nick meets them at the bar once he and Zayn finish supper, greeting each off them with a double kiss on the cheek. Zayn’s scouted out a potential partner before even reaching the bar counter, squeezing Harry’s shoulder apologetically as he dumps him in favour of a pretty redhead.

               

‘What will you have?’ Nick asks, resting his arm around Harry’s shoulders casually.

 

‘Choose for me.’ Nick nods and wrestles to reach the front, staring the bartender down until he serves them. While he’s busy, Harry scans his eyes over the room. He’s not on the pull, per se, but he’s not opposed to a quick bathroom rendezvous if the opportunity just happens to arise.

 

Sadly, it’s a little too early still, and it's slim pickings on the conquest front. Maybe Nick will be up for a quick and dirty shag in the loos. He’ll ask him later, once he’s had a bit more to drink and doesn’t feel the need to try and be sensible.

 

One thing he and Nick have in common is that they’re both excellent at making friends, and within the hour, they’ve commandeered a booth and have gathered a motley crew of interesting people. He’s had enough to drink to feel giggly and horny, but not enough to feel reckless and stupid, which he thinks puts him in good standing.

 

Nick seems interested in the man sitting across from him with the tortoise-shell glasses, and if the fact that his hand is no longer resting on Harry’s thigh under the table is any indication, then Harry’s not going to be getting any action tonight.

 

He feels a bit moody as he stirs his mojito with his straw, watching the ice melt as his drink gets warm and naff. It’s almost bizarre, how one moment he feels in his element completely, savouring the energy of the table, and then the next second, he feels a pang of loneliness. Zayn moved on from the redhead ages ago, but instead of coming back to Harry, he went on to a pretty blonde. Nick’s too wrapped up in the dumb glasses boy to pay him any attention.

 

He hates the melancholy feeling, and before he can fall deeper into his hole of self-pity, he checks out the hook-up menu again.

 

Harry nudges Nick’s shoulder, not taking his eyes off the man. ‘Is that Freddie Flintoff?’

 

Nick looks over uninterestedly, following the line of Harry’s gaze. ‘Probably,’ he affirms, before he looks back at Harry, ‘Off you go then; cricket jerseys are in right now.’

 

Harry kisses his cheek and slides out the booth. Zayn squeezes his arm as he passes, more a reflexive gesture than anything, since he doesn’t even have to look away from the pretty girl he’s chatting up. Harry makes his way across the club to reach Freddie, never looking away from him too long.

 

‘Hi,’ Harry greets once he reaches him, cutting into his conversation. Part of him wants to apologise for being impolite, but Freddie looks amused, so he doesn’t. ‘I’m Harry.’

 

‘Freddie,’ Freddie says. Harry knows that.

 

‘I know.’

 

Freddie smiles and looks over at the person he was talking to, engaging in a silent conversation until he leaves, and Harry’s alone with him.

 

‘I used to watch you,’ Harry tells him.

 

‘That so?’ Harry nods, taking a step closer to him. Freddie reaches up and tucks his hair behind his ear, his touch lingering.

 

They’re falling into a taxi within half an hour, arriving at Freddie’s five minutes later. Freddie pulls him inside, gathering him up in his arms and kissing him against the front door. Freddie undresses him slowly and picks him up, grabbing a handful of his arse.

 

He fucks him over the kitchen counter, mounting him from behind and pressing his chest to the cold marble as he presses into him. He’s big enough that Harry’s eyes water from the burn, but it feels so good that he can’t stop little whimpers from escaping his lips.

 

He’s big and tall and Harry feels dwarfed when Freddie grips onto his hips and positions him where he wants him. He rubs over Harry’s spot perfectly, pressing on his waist to deepen the arch of his back and make the angle that much better, so that Harry has to stand on his toes.

 

He can’t help the mix of sounds he lets out, his cock dripping down onto the tile as Freddie gives a hard enough thrust that his feet leave the ground, and Freddie’s just holding him up and open for him to fuck into.

 

He comes hard across his cupboard door, going limp in his hold until Freddie pulls out and comes over his lower back, fucking back into Harry slowly until he goes soft. Harry tries to catch his breath, his out breath misting up the marble by his mouth as his legs tremble. He can feel Freddie’s come drip down his crack, over his hole, down his taint.

 

‘Come on, bedtime,’ Freddie murmurs, squeezing his bum. He’s glad he’s not being kicked out right away.

 

Freddie cleans him up with a dishcloth and sighs when Harry makes no effort to move, boneless and sleepy. Harry hums happily when Freddie wraps his arms around him and picks him up, carrying him through to his bedroom.

 

Harry wriggles under his duvet happily, half purring when Freddie climbs in beside him. He reaches behind him blindly until he locates Freddie’s arm, pulling until he wraps his arm around Harry’s waist and cuddles up behind him.

 

‘You’re a bit useless after you come, aren’t you?’

 

Harry shushes him, before snuggling into his pillow and falling asleep.

 

 

 

 

Waking up on Monday morning seems mechanic. After a single week of strict routine, he’s already been drilled hard enough that he wakes up with his third alarm, showers, jerks off, and does his sun salutations in under ten minutes, and has Libby’s bag packed before 7.30.

 

He’s not yet managed to perfect his bun technique, and Libby makes him redo it twice until she sighs and must realise she’s not going to get any better out of him. She wants to wear her blue leotard today, adding some excitement to his day when she asks him to choose out new outfits for her, not satisfied with his options.

 

They sing along to _A Whole New World_ , _Under the Sea_ , and the first half of _Colours of the Wind_ before reaching her ballet school. She starts her individual pre-warmup warmups while the rest of the class arrives, and Harry is left to sit on his own at the back of the room. He’s been trying to avoid being alone since Saturday night, not liking where his thoughts go if he’s able to dwell on them too long.

 

He hasn’t been able to shake the niggling feeling that’s been following him. He’s been carrying the monkey on his shoulder for longer than he’d like to admit, long before the dropout debacle even, but it only started to feel suffocating on Saturday.

 

It’s the cloying feeling of loneliness that he just can’t shake. He used to have a slew of friends, and plans that would make a socialite jealous. He has no idea when it came to be that looking at his phone feels more like a burden than a pleasure. He struggles to name a friend that isn’t Nick or Zayn.

 

The routine of waking up early and spending his day with a little girl doesn’t seem to help his predicament. Speaking to a five year old and two untouchable people doesn’t satisfy his daily need for communication and attention.

 

They start the lesson on time, piano tinkling in time with their warm up. Savannah runs in three minutes late, still wearing an anorak when she fits in beside Libby and joins the warm up. With her is a blond man, who does his best to silently creep across the room to the back. The instructor must be feeling charitable because she doesn’t mention it and simply carries on.

 

The man plops down heavily in the open chair beside Harry. ‘Must be my lucky day,’ he whispers conspiratorially, ‘managed to get past Carol without a scratch. I’m Niall, by the way.’

 

Harry gives him a sideways smile. ‘Harry.’

 

It's off to swimming after ballet, and then back home for an afternoon of activity he hasn't yet fully decided on.

 

A small part of him has always felt like he was robbed in his childhood. Enid Blyton bedtime stories promised him a youth full of idyllic plateaus and mystery solving over a weekend by the seaside. It’s with his _Famous Five_ fantasies in mind that he decides a picnic will be a great idea before Libby has to have a nap.

 

One mohair throw, a plateful of sandwiches, and two iced teas later finds Libby and Harry at the bottom of the garden, shielded from the sun by the leaves of the Alder tree.

 

‘What did you do this weekend?’ Harry asks, picking a small spiral thorn off of the throw.

 

‘Stuff.’

 

Harry nods sagely in understanding. ‘I love doing stuff,’ he agrees. His supreme sense of humour goes over Libby’s head.

 

‘Mummy took me shopping and got me lots of new stuff. Daddy made us supper yesterday,’ she pauses, scratching at her leg and taking a big bite of her apple. Harry watches apple juice runs down her arms and chin, itching to wipe it away. ‘I like having Daddy around.’

 

‘Having daddy around?’ Harry asks tentatively. He can’t restrain himself and has to use a baby wipe to wipe Libby’s face. Libby whines and leans away from him, but she lets him clean her up and keeps chomping on her apple.

 

‘Mmm,’ she hums, looking over the array of food and for her next victim, despite the fact that she’s still holding half an apple. She picks up a triangle of Nutella sandwich and takes a bite, and then another shortly afterward, chased by another bite of apple. ‘He’s always at his house. Mummy’s never been to Daddy’s house, but I have and I like it. He lets me skip baths and Sylvia makes better toasties than Marta and Mummy.’

 

It’s a lot to process, so Harry doesn’t say anything and just simply nods along trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. ‘Did you have fun at swimming?’

 

Libby babbles off into a new answer, but Harry can’t stop thinking about that magazine headline, the one about **LOUIS TOMLINSON, ACTOR OR ADULTERER?** The thought makes him very uncomfortable, and he’s not sure he can work comfortably knowing that one of his employers is cheating on the other like some sort of unwilling accomplice.

 

 

 

 

It's later in the evening that Louis and Eleanor are surprisingly home at the same time. Harry's just put Libby to sleep when he comes into the kitchen to find the two of them. He's gotten so used to being alone in the house that it feels strange to have company.

 

‘Hi Harry, did you have a good day?’

 

Harry nods. ‘Quite good, and yourself?’

 

‘Very busy, but can't complain. Have you eaten yet?’

 

‘Not yet. I was going to make myself some toast; would you like some?’

 

Both Louis and Eleanor shakes their heads no so Harry turns his back and loads two slices of whole grain bread into the toaster. Eleanor leaves the room when her phone rings, leaving Harry and Louis alone. Harry spins his ring round his ring finger and stares at the toaster as he thinks about what Libby said and he just can't stop himself.

 

 ‘Sorry Mr Tomlinson-’

 

‘Louis.’

 

‘Right, well. Sorry if I’m intruding Louis, but when I was with Libby earlier, she said something about being allowed to stay up later at daddy’s house,’

 

He’s not entirely sure how to eloquently phrase his question. Perhaps if he’d listened in English Language he would’ve known how to politely ask whether or not someone is having an affair.

 

‘Yes?’ Louis prompts. His face gives nothing away. He must be great at poker.

 

‘Well, what does she mean by that?’

 

‘By what?’

 

‘Daddy’s house?’

 

‘Well Harry, I would assume she means my house.’

 

‘So here?’

 

‘Here?’

 

Harry huffs in frustration. ‘Yes here. This house.’

 

‘What? No! She means my old house.’

 

‘Your old house?’

 

‘Listen Harry, if you’re interested in farce, I can put _Noises Off_ on for you.’

 

‘ _Noises Off_? Wait, that’s not the point!’

 

‘Then what is the point?’ He’s smirking. Harry’s amused him again. He’s also lost his point.

 

He frowns for a moment as he backtracks, before, ‘Are you having an affair, Mr Tomlinson?’

 

He doesn’t look amused anymore. Quite shocked, really. Perhaps a bit offended. Not good.

 

‘I beg your pardon? Why would you think I’m having an affair? Wait, why would it be an affair?’

 

God, Harry’s made him mad. Very unprofessional. Crap. He gets up to stand before he digs his hole deeper and finds himself without job once more. Before he can make his hasty retreat, Louis Tomlinson grabs him by the wrist and keeps him in place. His face once again gives nothing away, but his grip on Harry’s wrist makes his palms start to sweat.

 

‘Harry, I’m not sure how you’ve come to that conclusion, but I’m not having an affair. Eleanor and I are separated. I’m staying here while I look for a new place, as I’m sure you’re well aware what happened to my last one from all the media coverage.’

 

Harry fish mouths slightly, staring down at a hard-faced Mr Tomlinson. Separated? He feels like he’s ten and finding out that Father Christmas isn’t real all over again. Louis’ hand is still tightly wrapped around his wrist, which isn’t helping him at all.

 

‘Oh, right. Of course. So you're definitely not having an affair?’

 

'No, no affair. I just managed to burn down my house when I fell asleep with the stove on.' Louis tilts his head as a small smile fits onto his face. ‘You know, I would expect a law student to read through a contract before signing it. Might’ve saved you the confusion.’

 

He lets go of Harry’s wrist and stands, before leaving him alone in the kitchen. Harry jumps when his toast pops out of the toaster.

 

 

 

 

‘There’s a princess-’

 

‘Two princesses,’ Savannah corrects.

 

‘Two princesses and a witch.’

 

‘Am I the witch then?’

 

Libby gives him The Look. That’s a yes then, _obviously_. She sighs before speaking again. ‘There’s two princesses and a witch, and it’s a competition between the princesses to get the most greenies,’

 

‘And the witch has to try and stop them from getting any.’ Savannah interjects.

 

‘Greenies?’ Harry gets The Look again, before Libby holds up a green acorn. ‘Right. Are there any rules?’

 

Libby seems to think about it for a second. ‘Only the princess are allowed on the grass, and, um, and the witch can only stand on the stones. Aaand the fountain is safe, so the witch can’t catch you if you’re touching it.’

 

‘And no throwing greenies!’ Harry adds, before Libby and Savannah sprint off the lawn to the garden’s edge, and Harry dutifully goes to stand on the stepping stone under the oak tree.

 

He turns his back and paces around the tree and pretends not to notice the little girls sprinting past him to grab handfuls of acorns. Savannah’s mum dropped her off at the house at half-six, so Harry’s been wide awake ever since. Savannah’s an interesting character; she makes Libby come out of her shell.

 

He lunges at Libby half-heartedly so that she runs away screaming, her and Savannah crouching at the foot of the garden and giggling as they work up the courage to sneak up on him again.

 

Harry paces around the tree, giving them ample time to gather resources. He leans back against the tree and lets the two girls have their fun without interruption. He realises that, from his current vantage point, he can see right into the room above the study. The room which he remembers to be the home gym. The room which Louis Tomlinson is currently shirtless in.

 

Harry stares at him unashamedly, tracking his eyes over his bare chest and folded arms. His bicep looks about as big as Harry’s neck. He’s covered in tattoos, and Harry’s dragging his eyes over the script on his chest when he realises he’s been spotted.

 

Louis smiles at him, giving Harry a small wave with the hand not holding his phone. Harry’s eyes widen, but he smiles back before turning away with hot cheeks.

 

The games finishes with Libby and Savannah tied because Harry is not about to deal with the drama of choosing a winner. There’s no sign of Louis when they enter the house, but Eleanor flits in when they’re having lunch.

 

From what Harry gathers, there wasn’t any lasting damage done re: last Friday, and Eleanor has given her word that she will definitely be there for Libby’s final performance at the end of the summer holidays.

 

‘Hello my darling,’ she says with a kiss to the top of Libby’s head, ‘and hello my other darling.’ She kisses the top of Savannah’s head as she picks a carrot stick off Libby’s plate. ‘Hello Harry.’

 

Harry smiles at her and with his mouth full of his sandwich.

 

Libby’s been a bit down because of Eleanor’s looming work trip, so it makes Harry feel warm inside seeing how happy she looks at the time being.

 

 

 

 

Harry’s downloaded an Encore Tricolore text book onto his iPad, which he keeps handy when he sits down to teach Libby French. All the sections are unbearably dull, so Harry’s teaching her the unit on food. He’d utilised their printer to print out two dozen food items, writing down the French for each on separate slips of paper.

 

Libby takes her time matching up the picture of food to her guess of the French word. He’d tried to stick to the most obvious ones, but she still gets about half of them wrong. It might also be because she can hardly read.

 

‘Bonjour mes cheris,’

 

Harry breathes a sigh of relief. They’ve covered the basics in depth, so Libby grins before responding. ‘Bonjour papa.’

 

Louis walks over to take a look at what they’re doing. ‘Aliments?’ He looks straight at Harry as he asks.

 

‘Oui.’ Libby responds confidently. Harry breathes another sigh of relief.

 

Louis looks back at him, before he prattles off what sounds like a long string of sounds. Harry’s pidgin French did not prepare him for this.

 

He chances a response. ‘Err, oui?’

 

Louis looks to be stifling a laugh at his response. Feeling embarrassed, Harry returns his focus to Libby, removing her correctly matched pairs and reshuffling the wrong ones for her to try again. Louis surveys the scene for a minute before coming around to stand beside Harry’s chair, leaning down so that he can speak directly into his ear.

 

‘I asked you if you like egg whites,’ he says lowly, his breath tickling. Harry feels his cheeks heat up. Louis chortles as he leaves the room.

 

 

 

 

Eleanor is leaving in the morning, so Harry’s largely had the day off because she wanted to spend the day with Libby. She and Louis are having a bunch of friends over for dinner, so Harry willingly takes over so she and Louis can start making supper.

 

Harry runs a bath for Libby and gets out her bath toys before putting her eye-protector cap on for her. She skims the top of the water with her killer whale toy.

 

‘Why are they called killer whales?’

 

Harry massages shampoo into her hair so that it foams. ‘Because they tell killer jokes,’ Harry tells her, not wanting to broach the topic of killing.

 

‘But why do they look like dolphins?’

 

‘I’m not sure Libbs,’ Harry says honestly, watching as Libby picks up her blue whale toy.

 

‘Why are whales ugly?’

 

‘I think whales are beautiful, actually.’

 

Libby frowns but doesn’t say anything else as she drops her toys into the bath water in favour of picking up her Ursula toy. ‘Is Ursula beautiful?’

 

‘In her own way.’

 

‘And Ariel?’

 

‘Her too,’ he affirms, twisting Libby’s hair upwards into a single spike until it starts to flop over.

 

He rinses her hair after conditioning, helping her out of the bath and wrapping her in a yellow bath towel. He dresses her in her Pooh Bear pyjamas and tucks her in for the next ten pages of _The Philosopher’s Stone_.

 

He leaves her door ajar after she’s fallen asleep, climbing down the stairs to make himself something to eat before bed, but he pauses when he realises that Eleanor and Louis’ guests have arrived and after listening for a few seconds, he realises they’re talking about him.

 

Harry stands still on the third-from-the-bottom step and frowns. ‘It’s brave, I’ll give you that. I don’t think I could trust a man to care for my children. But I know lots of women are scared that they’ll be left for the nanny, so you’re quite smart.’

 

Someone agrees, and Harry wants to scoff. He decides he’s being silly and finishes descending the stairs. If he’s fast enough, he’ll be able to slip past the dinner party without being spotted. He walks past the open doorway that feeds into the dining room, thinking he may be safe until a familiar voice stops him.

 

'Harry!' Nick says gleefully. Harry stops and smiles bashfully, stopping in the doorway and turning unsurely to face the full table.

 

'Nick. What are you doing here?'

 

'Just dinner with friends,' Right, obviously. 'Care to join?'

 

Oh God. He must be forgetting that Harry is technically at work. He scratches the back of his neck. 'Actually, I'm just going to head off to bed,'

 

'Nonsense,' Eleanor says, 'join us.'

 

Harry looks around the table at people he vaguely recognises from magazine covers, looking between Nick, then Louis, then Eleanor, then back to Nick.

 

'Really?'

 

'Of course,' Louis says, moving over to make space on the bench next to him, 'come sit.'

 

Harry approaches slowly. Nick must finally realise what an awkward position he's got Harry in and makes some space next to himself.

 

Harry sits down tentatively next to him.

 

'So how long have you two been together?' Eleanor asks.

 

'Two years,' Nick says, at the same time that Harry says, 'We're not together.'

 

It feels incredibly uncomfortable, and he kind of hopes that he’s the only one feeling it. Probably not though because Louis escapes to the kitchen at the first opportunity. One of the guests gets up and follows after him.

 

Nick rests his hand on his thigh under the table and squeezes. Harry senses an uncomfortable conversation soon approaching.

 

Harry avoids confrontation by slipping away when the opportunity presents itself. He kisses Nick’s cheek and leaves, making a detour to the kitchen on the way back to his room.

 

 

 

 

Eleanor has to kiss each of her stuffed animals 10 times on the nose before Libby’s satisfied, and then she has to kiss Libby goodbye another 10 times. Libby waves forlornly at Eleanor’s car as she pulls out of the garage and starts down the long driveway, hooting a farewell to the pair of them standing on the front steps. Libby sniffs.

 

‘It’s only five sleeps,’ Harry comforts when Libby’s mouth turns down at the corners, ‘She’ll be back very soon.’

 

Libby has a planned playdate with Savannah to cheer her up about Eleanor leaving, but she also has a bit of a fever. Harry holds the back of his hand against her cheek after he buckles her into her car seat.

 

He’s not sure, so he calls Louis over. ‘Does she feel warm to you?’

 

Louis tests. ‘She’s a bit hot. How are you feeling Libbs?’

 

‘I’m fine, daddy.’ Libby smiles sweetly up at the pair of them, but neither of them are convinced. Louis shrugs.

 

‘If she’s up to it, then she’s up to it I guess.’

 

Harry regards her a bit longer before checking she’s safely buckled and closing the back door. The two of them drive to Savannah’s house, and Harry nearly wets himself when Libby manages to get herself unstrapped and has her door open before he’s even stopped the car when they arrive. By the time he’s unbuckled, she’s already up the stone steps, banging her fist against the white front door while Harry gets her bag from the boot.

 

Niall opens the door and welcomes Libby in. He looks up and spots Harry, doing his best to get the boot open and get her bag out and catch the young girl. He climbs the stairs two at a time and grins.

 

‘Great seeing you again,’ Harry greets, handing over Libby’s bag, ‘When should I fetch her?’

 

‘Five-ish, I guess? Do you want my number?’

 

Harry hands over his phone as answer, letting Niall type in his number and calling it so that Niall has his.

 

‘See you later,’ Niall calls after him as Harry climbs into his car and drives off.

 

 

 

 

‘What’re you watching?’

 

Louis startles, looking up from his iPad, to Harry, to the television, and back to Harry. ‘Um, _Closer_ I think. It was on.’

 

‘Can I join?’

 

Louis gives him a welcoming smile that invites Harry to sit down on the opposite end of the sofa. Harry’s barely been sitting five minutes when Louis mutes the television and turns to him.

 

‘Would you mind running lines with me again?’

 

Harry looks at Jude Law’s face one last time before he shrugs and agrees.

 

They start reading from the middle, and Harry’s too confused to be interested in what he’s reading until they reach the 17th scene.

 

‘I’m still me.’ Louis sounds proper heartbroken, and Harry has to look over at him. He’s frowny and fully absorbed in his character, his eyes filled with thunderstorms. ‘Line, Harry.’

 

Harry’s eyes snap back down to his script. ‘It’s not the same.’ The stage directions tell him to let go of Louis’ hand. He's not even holding his hand to begin with. He's very confused. Louis, managing to follow his directions, grabs him by the wrist.

 

‘I still think the same… still feel the same.’ He brings Harry’s hand to his chest, forcing him to feel the bulk of chest through his t-shirt. He covers Harry’s hand with his own and guides it down to rest in the centre, over the drum of his heartbeat. ‘My heart still beats for you.’

 

He can’t help the pleased thrill he gets at the picture of their hands together, curling his fingers against the material. He can feel Louis’ eyes on him, so he looks up to meet him, bombarded by the customary breathlessness. He’s got the faintest dusting of freckles under his eyes, and the suggestion of frown lines showing from under his fringe. He could do with some lip-ice, Harry thinks as his eyes flick down to his lips. He feels drawn to him, a part of him panicking because it feels like he physically has to touch him, kiss him. He leans in closer, staring at his mouth as his tongue flicks out to run over his chapped lower lip, curling his fingers into a fist to keep his grip on him.

 

‘Your line.’ His voice is so soft, but it sends Harry careening in the opposite direction. He can’t go too far, because he’s still holding onto his t-shirt front for dear life. He flushes, making to withdraw, before Louis reaches to stop him.

 

Harry’s eyes shoot back to his face, and Louis looks like a spooked horse, his hand instantly falling back down to his side so that Harry is free to stop touching him. Louis looks as confused as he feels, something hiding in his face before he looks back down at his script long enough to tuck it away from Harry’s curious eyes.

 

Harry smiles to match the large one Louis’ got on. ‘Thanks, that was very helpful. Shit, I’ve got a production meeting. I’ll see you later?’

 

Harry nods, and Louis stands and leaves in a manner Harry has come to expect from him. He’s left to watch the end of _Closer_ by himself until his phone vibrates in his back pocket.

 

‘Niall?’ He answers, attention divided between Natalie Portman and his phone.

 

‘Libby’s sick.’

 

With two words, he’s got Harry on his feet, his car keys at the ready. Niall sets about explaining Libby’s condition to him, but Harry stops listening once he starts his car.

 

‘I’m on my way,’ he barks, ending the phone call and starting back to Savannah’s house. He sends Louis a text about the situation when he gets to Savannah’s house, seeing Libby and Niall waiting for him on the front steps.

 

Libby looks pale as a ghost as she clings onto a bright orange bucket. Niall holds her bucket while Harry helps her into the car. ‘I’m sorry about the puke thing,’ Harry apologises, taking the bucket from him and handing it to Libby. ‘Be sure to take lots of vitamins, just in case.’

 

He climbs back into the car and pulls out of his parking space, driving along the road until he realises he’s not sure where to go. He’s sure that Libby must have her a regular GP, and he’s sure that Eleanor probably listed the number of their preferred health service in his info folder, but he panics and turns left, driving the familiar route to Zayn’s hospital.

 

Libby has practically turned green, clinging onto her orange bucket as Harry rushes to get her unbuckled and into his arms, leaving the bucket on the seat next to her.

 

He carries her into the building, approaching the reception desk and holding thumbs that Libby doesn’t vomit down his back. The front nurse gives him a form to fill out, and he’s nearly finished it, Libby’s info pulled up on his phone, when Louis comes careening in.

 

Libby looks up at him, smiling before she remembers to look guilty and quickly leaning back into Harry’s chest.

 

Louis reaches for her, picking her up underneath her arms and getting close enough to Harry in doing so that he can smell him, soapy and musky.

 

He settles Libby on his hip, who presses her face into his chest before she starts to cough, a painful sound that makes her shake. Louis tuts.

 

‘What do you have to say for yourself, Miss I’m-Fine-Daddy?’

 

‘I’m not sick,’ Libby pouts, looking up at Louis before she’s cut off by another burst of coughs. Louis tuts again as Harry watches idly from Louis’ chair.

 

‘Well, we’ll just let the doctor decide on that, won’t we?’

 

Libby just rubs her forehead against his chest and he imagines that Louis can feel how hot she is. Harry stands up from his chair and straightens out his coat.

 

Harry goes to sit with Libby at the table of toys, setting out a tub of building blocks in front of Libby as they wait for the doctor to see them.

 

Harry’s content to just sit in the waiting room, but Louis calls him after them and Harry sits down in the second chair in front of Doctor Carter’s desk while Louis takes the first, holding Libby on his lap.

 

Louis talks about Libby’s cough and fever and about how she complained about being ‘achy’ before he carries her to Doctor Carter’s examination bed, setting her down so that Doctor Carter can take her temperature and check her throat, checking her heartbeat before she asks where it’s sore.

 

‘It just looks like a case of flu,’ Doctor Carter says, Louis resting his hand on Libby’s shoulder as she takes hold of her shoes, playing with the buckles. Harry walks over to them, arms around his middle as he comes to stand next to Louis silently. ‘I will prescribe her medication, but I think she’ll also need a flu shot.’

 

Libby looks up at that, eyes wide and mouth falling open. Louis squeezes her shoulder before he looks down at her. ‘Is that okay pet? Can you handle that?’

 

Libby’s reaction is quick, a simple shake of her head as Louis strokes his hand down her back soothingly.

 

Harry tries then, bending to be at her eye-level and smiling encouragingly. ‘What if your daddy and I hold your hand the whole time? Wouldn’t that be alright?’

 

Libby leans into Louis’ touch before she nods. ‘Okay,’ she says softly before Louis reaches for her hand and Libby turns to face him more before Harry takes her other hand. Doctor Carter smiles as she pulls open a drawer, pulling out a new syringe and needle, tearing off the plastic and setting it down on her counter.

 

She sets down a fluffy duck in front of Libby on the examination bed, its fluffy tummy covered in red dots. ‘Why don’t you count those?’ she suggests before she picks up the injection again.

 

Libby hardly notices the injection, too preoccupied with counting the dots out loud for Louis and Harry and before she can even properly notice, Doctor Carter is pressing a small ball of cotton wool against her arm, a small length of plaster tape used to secure it.

 

Louis hoists Libby up then before following Doctor Carter leads him back to her desk.

 

She fills out a script for Libby before she opens the glass jar of lollipops and nudges it towards Libby, smiling and telling Libby she can ‘Take whichever one you want,’

 

Libby chooses a blue lollipop, passing it to Harry to unwrap for her as Louis thanks Doctor Carter.

 

The three of them are on their way out when Harry bumps into Doctor Dreamy, his cheeks heating when he recalls the last time he saw him. He watches Doctor Dreamy start to smile when he recognises him.

 

‘Good to see you again.’ He looks over at Louis and raises an eyebrow. Harry can imagine what he’s thinking. First Harry shows up with Nick Grimshaw and now he’s with Louis Tomlinson

 

‘Yes, hi!’ Harry exclaims. ‘Good to see you too.’

 

‘Anything stuck today?’ he teases and Harry physically feels all the blood in his body rush to his cheeks.

 

‘No, nothing stuck today, thank you. Have a good weekend!’ He pulls Louis and Libby away before he can embarrass himself further.

 

Louis stops off at the pharmacy on the way home, Libby and Harry staying buckled up in the backseat as he jogs in to get her medicine. Harry has to bribe Libby with a biscuit until she agrees to take her cough medicine when they get home before humming to himself as he goes about making her some marmite toast. Louis takes her up to her bedroom and tucks her into bed, passing Harry on his way down as Harry goes to give her her toast.

 

They meet again in the living room when Harry goes to join him on the sofa. ‘Don’t you have to go back to your meeting?’

 

‘Family emergencies are more important,’ he says with a shrug. It goes quiet between them until Louis decides to speak again. ‘When I was younger my mum used to make up a bed for me in front of the TV.’

 

‘When you were younger, dinosaurs still roamed the earth,’ Harry teases, earning a mock-gasp and a smack on the arm from Louis.

 

‘What kind of blatant disrespect?!’ Louis squawks, trying to bat at Harry again before he dodges him. Harry bolts around to the front of the couch and chucks a pillow at him when he follows, giggling like the maniacal villain he is when Louis tackles him down onto the couch and pounces on him. Louis goes in for the kill with one hand on his neck and the other under his arm, tickling him at his weakest points so that Harry thrashes about.

 

Harry gasps for mercy in the spaces between his raucous laughter and breathless wheezing, his cheeks blooming a hectic pink. ‘Sorry? I didn’t quite catch that?’ Louis questions with mirth as he refuses to let up on his tickling.

 

Harry tries again, squealing and gasping as his knee knocks into Louis’ side with his attempted escape. Louis re-situates himself, so that he’s got one of his legs keeping one of Harry’s down for his own safety, before he attempts the courageous mission to attack Harry’s tickle-spot behind his knee. Doing so means that he has to discard his advantage momentarily as he sacrifices Harry’s underarm to use his hand to grab onto his thigh, pushing his leg down against his chest so that he has unlimited access to the crook of his knee.

 

With his arms now free, Harry makes a second attempt at throwing him off and tries to move Louis’ hand away from his neck. He’s aware he probably sounds positively hysterical, his chest shuddering from his laughter.

 

‘Mercy!’ He finally manages, twisting and spasming under Louis.

 

‘What was that?’

 

‘Mercy!’ He says again, louder this time as both his hands try to dislodge Louis’ hand where it’s tickling his neck.

 

‘Once more?’

 

‘Mercy!’ His voice is clear and loud, a laugh bisecting the two syllables as he finally manages to bat Louis’ hand away from his neck, his knee jerking so that Louis is momentarily thrown off balance. His cheeks hurt from how wide he’s smiling, and he can hear the blood rushing in his ears.

 

In retrospect, he’ll blame the situational giddiness on his following actions, for he cannot think of any other justification for the whimper he lets out when Louis forces Harry’s leg back down with one hand and gathers up Harry’s wrists with the other, before pinning his arms down to the couch above his head.

 

Louis’ giggles trail off. The woollen blanket of silence tossed over the room hits Harry like a bucket of ice-water, but. Instead of springing back to restore a professional amount of distance between them, he takes a deep breath and cranes his neck to lean in closer to Louis. He leans in so close that he can feel Louis’ out breath on his chin, so close that his eyes merge and he’s morphed into a cyclops. He leans in so close that when his eyes flutter closed, and his lips part just so, it would be so easy for Louis to press their mouths together and kiss him down into the couch.

 

But Louis doesn’t do that. When Harry’s eyes flutter closed and his lips part just so, Libby’s voice slices through the haze of his mind like a hot knife through butter, and Louis scrambles back in an absurdist impression of a backwards Jack-in-the-box.

 

Harry tries in vain to catch his breath, Louis’ eyes wild as he watches Harry lower his leg down from his chest and his arms down from above his head. Louis’ pupils are blown, and his looks as frantic as Harry feels when he sits up slowly and edges back until he’s pressed against the opposite arm rest so to maximise the distance between them.

 

Libby’s croaky cry of, ‘Daddy!’ from upstairs just manages to save Harry from having a mental breakdown. Louis opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out, and instead, he stands up, fixes his hair, and goes to attend to his sick daughter.

 

 

 

 

By the time Harry’s made it through the Friday-afternoon traffic and finally gets home, he’s managed to convince himself any “moments” he and Louis have are just him overanalysing things.

 

He brings it up when Zayn finally gets home, but Zayn seems to disagree with him completely.

 

‘Don’t do that Zayn.’ Harry whines.

 

‘Do what? I’m not doing anything!’

 

‘You’re planting ideas in my head. How would you feel if I told you Doctor Dreamy was into you?'

 

'I'd rejoice?'

 

'But would you still be able to do your job without constantly looking for signs of interest, or questioning everything?'

 

'I wouldn't let my personal life influence my job, Harry.'

 

He's right. He shouldn't let his personal life influence his job. Libby is his main priority, not Louis. On the rare chance that he is actually interested, that is.

 

Zayn sips at his beer. 'If you can keep it separate, and it will make you happy, I don't see why you shouldn't put yourself out there. Carpe diem and all that.'

 

'He's straight, Z.'

 

Zayn shrugs. 'You also thought he was married. Seems pretty closed minded of you to assume based off that alone.' He spares a sideways glance at Harry, grinning smugly.

 

'Are you calling me a hypocrite?'

 

'Implying would be a better word.' When he has another sip of his drink, Harry tips his bottle upwards so that he spills down his chin. 'Dick.'

 

 

 

 

'God, you're not meant to put foil in the microwave! Everyone knows that!' Actually, to be fair Harry only knows because he did the exact same thing a few months ago, and Zayn had to patch him up.

 

'I didn't!'

 

Harry tuts. 'You celebrities, all so out of touch with reality.'

 

Libby giggles and kicks her legs against the cupboards. Louis lets out an affronted, 'Hey!' He acquiesces and lets Harry take hold of his hand, twisting off the lid of the burn cream before he soothes a dollop into his skin. Louis winces, but let's Harry fix him up.

 

He sends a picture of his hand to Zayn once he's done, followed by, _does this need medical attention? Xx_

 

Zayn sends back the crying cat face emoji. Harry takes that as a no.

 

He turns Louis' hand in his to smooth over his red palm with his thumb. 'When do you start filming?'

 

'In about two months.'

 

Libby frowns and looks down at her bowl of fruit when Louis mentions leaving. Harry changes the subject and sits back down next to her while Louis gets on with supper.

 

Eleanor will be back in the morning, so Louis’ making supper for the three of them to keep Libby happy. Harry keeps an eye on him as he counts out five red grapes and five green. ‘How many red grapes are there?’

 

Libby picks the red grapes up one by one and holds them in the palm of her hand. ‘Five.’

 

Harry steals one from her hand and pops into his mouth. ‘Now how many are there?’

 

‘Four,’ Libby answers, eating one herself.

 

Left with eight grapes, Harry starts trying to explain multiplication to her. He’s not sure how old he was when he learnt his times tables, but Libby seems to grasp the idea with an impressive ease. Within minutes, Harry’s managed to explain that 8 grapes is the same and 4 sets of 2.

 

They eat together in the kitchen, chatting freely as they gobble up pasta. ‘I like your spoon, Libby,’ Harry compliments, eyeing her Powerpuff Girl spoon.

 

‘Thank you,’ she says with her mouth full.

 

‘I didn’t know the Powerpuff Girls were still around.’

 

‘It’s my fault,’ Louis chuckles, reaching over to squeeze Libby’s shoulder. ‘I used to love it. My sisters always watched it when I was little, so I bought all the seasons on DVD for Libby.’

 

Libby nods in agreement, staring down at her food. ‘I’m Blossom,’ she chirps. ‘Daddy’s Buttercup, so you’re Bubbles.’

 

‘I love Bubbles,’

 

Harry cleans up after supper while Louis carries Libby up to bed. He’s gone for ages, probably reading her to sleep. Harry gets used to the quiet, working fast and efficient as he washes the dishes.

 

'Nightcap?'

 

Harry blinks himself out of his dishwashing daze, looking over his shoulder at Louis. ‘Sorry? Missed that.’

 

‘I was offering you a drink. I know you’ve been trying to find an in with our liquor cabinet.' He chuckles at Harry's deer-in-headlights expression. 'I'm only teasing. What's your poison?'

 

Harry pulls the plug and sets the wet plate on the drying rack. 'Anything but gin, it makes me weepy.'

 

‘Anything but gin,’ he repeats, ‘I can do that. How about red wine? Is that fine by you?’

 

'Red wine makes me horny.' Louis stills, before pulling the bottle out of the door and setting it on the island. Harry gets out two glasses. Louis takes the bottle out onto the patio, setting it on the outside table before he sits down at the head.

 

James Blunt croons from inside as Louis pours him a glass… and then another… and another. Almost an hour later the two of them are still out on the patio, almost onto their third bottle of wine. Harry swirls the sip of wine remaining in his glass and eyes the swimming pool.

 

'I always love swimming when I'm drunk. Once, when we were visiting my aunt in Cornwall, Gemma and I snuck out in the middle of the night to go to this bar,'

 

Louis takes a sip of his wine and crosses his ankles on the table.

 

'And we made friends with a group of uni students. We got so smashed and somehow wound up on the beach. I think Gemma tried to go swimming, but she froze her ass off. Anyway, I spent an hour sitting on the beach with this guy who I think was just trying to get lucky, but I was only interested in the dog that followed us from the bar.'

 

'So you've always been strange then?'

 

'Not strange, special,'

 

'Ah, of course,' Louis takes a sip, 'special.'

 

Harry pushes his feet off the table. He changes the subject. 'Fancy a dip?'

 

Louis looks over at the tiny pool sceptically. It is very small, and very deep. Harry regrets his suggestion the moment it leaves his mouth, thinking about the two of them trying to stay above water in a very small amount of space.

 

'It's probably freezing.'

 

'Come on, I dare you.'

 

Louis seems to contemplate it. 'Only if you go first.'

 

Harry stands without a word, unbuttoning his jeans to kick them aside, before he sits down on the deck, slipping down into the water.

 

He sinks down until his feet touch the floor before pushing off and resurfacing with a gasp. It is fucking freezing, but he is nothing if not full of pride. He holds onto the edge, brushing his hair out of his face and plastering on a grin.

 

'Come on, the water's lovely!'

 

'You can't fool me H. I think I'd rather just watch you.'

 

Harry frowns, brushing his hair back again when it flops in front of his eyes. He disregards the pool steps in favour of placing both hands on the elevated deck, hoisting himself out of the water.

 

He watches Louis drag his eyes up his wet legs to where his wet t-shirt clings to his torso. He feels goose bumps prick the longer Louis looks at him, which are definitely not from the cold water.

 

Water drips down onto the wooden slats as he pads towards Louis. Louis himself only seems to realise Harry's getting closer when it's too late, and Harry's lunging to grab at his arm. He pulls Louis to stand, Louis putting up a struggle as Harry tries to tug of war him into the pool.

 

'Harry!' He shrieks, grabbing at Harry's wet t-shirt for leverage. Water and varnished wood just screams recipe for disaster, which is only multiplied by the small bit of space between the outside table and the drop into the teeny tiny pool. He's almost glad when Louis gets a grip on him and picks him up, so that the risk of danger is minimised slightly.

 

Before he can even process what's happening, he's being chucked in the pool. He flails out underwater, thankful that he managed not to crack his skull on the edge or something. He kicks about to resurface, seeing Louis dive in from his peripheral.

 

He clings onto the brick edge as he coughs the water out of his lungs. There's a gasp for air from behind him, before a firm hand pats his back. A hand appears next to his on top of the brick, Louis' arm pressing against his own as he crowds up against his back.

 

'Alright, that's enough, no need to cough up a lung.'

 

Harry snorts at that. 'You caught me off guard, I could've drowned.'

 

'Oh, please.' His firm pats morph into firm strokes down his spine, until Harry's stopped hacking up water and can twist slightly to look at him. Louis beams at him. 'I will admit, for a second I was scared I threw you too far, and thought you were gonna brain yourself.'

 

Harry pushes at his chest so that he has a bit more space, leaving only one hand on the brick so that he can face Louis fully. Their legs tangle together, the wet denim of Louis' jeans brushing against Harry's calf.

 

'You've still got your jeans on!'

 

'You've still got your top.'

 

'I wouldn't necessarily equate wet denim with wet cotton, Louis,'

 

'Fine, I'll take them off, just for you.' He winks at Harry, and Harry feels hot all over because this is happening. He swims to the other side of the pool while Louis struggles with his jeans.

 

'It's freezing,' Louis comments, before he's swimming over to Harry. He seems intent on making sure that Harry has no space to breathe around him.

 

Harry's familiar with this, the electric anticipation of a pull. He knows this, finding any excuse to get close, waiting for the right moment. He knows how to do this, he reminds himself, trying to calm his racing heart. This is happening, and he needs to remain calm. He swallows the lump in his throat.

 

'I remember in school, we learnt that wearing wet clothes just makes you colder,' his eyes flick down to Louis' wet t-shirt as he dips down below the water, only his eyes remaining above, as he waits for his reaction.

 

'So I'll be warmer without this?' He asks softly as he pinches at the wet fabric of his shirt. Harry nods minutely. Louis' face goes serious, before he's tugging off his shirt, chucking it out onto the grass. 'Now you.'

 

Harry pulls off his own top, letting it fall onto the brick with a splat. Louis' looks down at his chest before he can stop himself, forcing his eyes back to Harry's face. Harry feels hyper aware of his own breathing, and how close their hands are, and the feel of Louis' thigh brushing against his under the water. Louis' hairy calf feels smooth under the water, and when it brushes against Harry's own again, he doesn't move away. Harry shudders.

 

'You're shivering.'

 

Harry looks at him from under the fan of his eyelashes. 'I'm not cold.'

 

Louis looks frustrated when Harry doesn't twig right away. Louis feels around under the water, brushing his fingers against his hip before he pulls at his waistband, letting it snap back a moment later. 'You're cold, you should take these off.'

 

Harry's mouth feels dry, and his buzz is officially gone, leaving him feeling horny and unsure of himself as he stares at Louis. Louis looks over his shoulder in assessment before he swims over to the corner step, sitting down. Once seated, he looks back at Harry expectantly.

 

Harry pushes his pants down, ducking under water as he pulls them off from around his ankles, breaking through the surface closer to Louis than intended, holding his balled up underwear in his hand.

 

It feels like he's being pulled forward without any say in the matter, until he's right in front of Louis on his step. Recognising that Louis' not going to make the first move, he goes for it, moving in closer so that he can bend and spread his legs, knees resting on the step on either side of Louis' hips.

 

He sits gingerly, his bare arse resting on Louis' thighs as he lets go of the edge to rest his hand on the side of Louis' neck. Louis' hands stay at his sides, and he stares up at Harry blankly.

 

Harry cranes his neck so that their mouths are mere centimetres apart. His heart feels ready to beat out of his chest, hands almost trembling as he closes his eyes, pressing close enough that his dick brushes against Louis' stomach and he gasps against his slightly parted lips.

 

He's about to kiss him, when, 'I'm not gay, Harry.'

 

Harry pulls back and tilts his head with a puzzled smile. 'Neither am I.'

 

Louis' hand wraps around his wrist, pulling his hand away from his neck as he leans back, as far away from Harry as he can be. Harry frowns in confusion.

 

'Am I missing something?'

 

'I'm straight, H,' Louis says softly, his eyes going soft. 'I'm sorry if I made you think any differently.'

 

He's overcome with shame and embarrassment, trying to back pedal away from Louis before he gets a hold of him by the elbows and keeps him where he is. 'None of that.'

 

He pulls out of his grasp, wanting to just face his rejection in peace. He plants his foot on the step, holding his hands in front of his crotch as he climbs out. He crouches down to pick up his t-shirt.

 

Louis climbs out after him, picking up his own wet clothes as Harry retrieves his jeans from the deck.

 

Louis gives him an unsure smile. Harry holds his balled up wet clothes in front of his groin, trying to shield his dignity as his tipsy mind tries to process what’s just happened. He swallows thickly and tries to smooth things over.

 

'You'll get the floor wet. You can come get a towel from my room if you want.'

 

‘It’s alright, I’ll take my chances,’ Louis shrugs, not meeting Harry’s eyes when he says, ‘Have a good night, Harry.’

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

‘Can I talk to you?’ Harry still feels like he’s naked, having to face rejection with nothing to protect himself with. Louis' obviously been avoiding talking about last night, sticking to Libby's side and sitting in her room with her so that Harry can't speak to him about it.

 

Louis’ expression is pained, but he ruffles Libby’s hair and kisses the top of her head. He leaves her colouring in at her desk and follows Harry out onto the landing.

 

‘I’m sorry,’ Harry starts to say, at the same time that Louis says the exact same thing. They’re both able to laugh it off, which does help Harry feel a little less scared. Louis gestures for him to go first. ‘I’m sorry about last night. It was unprofessional and out of line, and I’m sorry for putting you in such an uncomfortable position.’

 

He makes it through without stuttering and gives himself a pat on the back. The time spent in front of the mirror, agonising over what he was going to say, seems to have paid off.

 

‘I’m sorry if I led you on, because that was not my intention. I like you Harry, and you’ll be the first to know if I start to swing the other way.’ Louis recites his words with the same stiffness as Harry that makes him imagine Louis in a similar situation than he was, planning the best way to confront the elephant in the room. ‘Can we just pretend it never happened?’

 

Harry finds himself nodding, feeling greatly relieved because he knows how easily he could have lost his job. ‘That would be great,’ he says, even though a small part of him feels uneasy at the notion. He’s been feeling off since last night, and he can’t put his finger on it. He feels ashamed and humiliated, and more than that he feels horrified. But there’s still something that doesn’t sit quite right with him.

 

 

 

 

Harry goes hunting for fabric once he’s spoken to Louis, unlocking the laundry room and scratching around. He finds a plastic bag on the top shelf next to some old fabric softener, stuffed full of fabric off-cuts. He upends the bag’s contents on the dining room table and riffles through his findings. None of them seem quite big enough for what he has in mind, but he thinks that with some glue and scissors he’ll manage.

 

He lays out newspaper on the table top and crudely glues 2 pieces of fabric together. He pencils a vague rectangular outline for Libby to draw inside of and sets out a bunch of coloured felt-tipped pens and permanent markers.

 

He has to spell “Welcome Home” for her on a slip of paper, which she then rewrites in black sharpie across the length of fabric. They work as a team colouring in and decorating the flag, which Harry then glues to an old length of wood for a handle. Once the flag is complete, Libby starts on a special card and refuses Harry’s offers of help.

 

Libby won’t sit still for the entire ride to Heathrow, bouncing about and shoving handfuls of Smarties into her mouth whenever she isn’t singing. Harry had offered to keep her card safe, but Libby clutched it to her chest aggressively and gave him crazy eyes at the mere suggestion.

 

They pull up to the pick-up section, parking undercover. Libby tries to shake him off, but when she must realise that Harry’s not going anywhere, she tries to pull him along and make him speed up. They stand up against the railing that lines the International Arrivals gates, Harry holding Libby up so that she can see over the railing and hold her flag proudly.

 

It’s a 10 minute wait for Eleanor to walk through the sliding doors, and Libby forgets her flag as soon as she sees her, struggling until Harry lowers her down over the railing and she can dart towards her mum.

 

Eleanor drops her suitcase to crouch down and welcome Libby into her arms, hugging her tight as grumpy travellers side-step around them with accompanying eye-rolls. Harry just stands back and doesn’t approach them just yet, not wanting to interrupt.

 

 

 

 

Clearly, Eleanor does not believe in taking breaks, because she’s focussed on Libby’s birthday the second she gets home, despite the fact that it’s two weeks away. Two hours later and the dining room table is already piled high with black folders. The portfolios of hopeful party planners, all wanting the chance to organise Libby’s festivities. Harry can't help but peek through.

 

It's such a London thing, the event planning deal. Harry knows about twenty event planners, but he doesn't bring that up because he is (or is at least trying to be) a professional, and professional people say no to cronyism.

 

Libby’s currently otherwise-occupied, the sound of choppy violin filtering out from the study while she practices for her lesson with Ferida tomorrow, so Harry has a moment to himself to critique.

 

Or not to himself actually, because the draw of being unapologetically bitchy is too strong for Louis to resist and he joins Harry in paging through portfolios.

 

‘That is the ugliest cake I have ever seen. Christ.’

 

'Don’t be rude.' Harry frowns at him before turning away and paying attention to the portfolios again. 'It actually looks quite nice if you squint.’

 

‘You think you could make better?’ Louis asks, purely out of interest,

 

‘Probably not. I’m bad at icing neatly,’ Harry responds, flicking to the next page and raising an eyebrow at the close-up shot of a vibrator centrepiece.

 

'Nothing wrong with a bit of messy icing,' Louis looks over his shoulder. 'Is that a condom cake?'

 

'I think so... My guess is bachelorette party.'

 

'Absurd, absolutely absurd.' Harry pages to the end of the folder, reaching for the next. He eyes the princess tea-party set-up on the first page appreciatively. ‘Ooh, I like that one!’

 

Harry pauses to admire the ballroom decorated to look like winter wonderland. He hums in agreement. 'I think I like this person most so far.' Louis hooks his chin over his shoulder and pays closer attention as soon as Harry gives his seal of approval. Harry tenses momentarily.

 

Harry moves their favourite portfolio to the top of the pile of ones for Eleanor to consider and tries to ignore his confusion and frustration about Louis.

 

 

 

 

After her violin practice, Harry invites Libby into the lounge and closes the door. He’s not in the mood to face Louis, and it’s for his own selfish reasons that he asks Libby, ‘Have you ever seen _Tarzan_?’ Libby shakes her head as a no. ‘Well this is my favourite, so you better like it,’ Harry teases while plugging the HDMI cable into his laptop.

 

He fiddles with the remote to change channels, so that the webpage fills the screen. He makes the screen bigger before pressing play, galloping over to dive down next to Libby as the movie starts.

 

Harry feels as young as the child next to him when he finds himself constantly looking over to see whether or not she’s enjoying the movie. She’s absolutely transfixed, so much so that her thumb appears to be long forgotten.

 

The score rumbles around them, the subwoofer making the floor vibrate. They’re both in tears in the first scene, and after that Libby has to move closer. She drags her blanket onto the carpet in front of the television and flops onto her belly, watching with wonder.

               

She sings along without knowing any of the words, and it makes Harry feel warm inside, watching the young girl fall in love with something that he holds so close to his heart.

 

He finds himself crying at the most absurd moments for no reason, tears streaming down his cheeks when Tarzan and Jane swing through the forest. The experience is almost cathartic.

 

 

 

 

Harry decides to go to Louis on Wednesday morning, leaving Libby and Ferida to their Kabalevsky. He’s climbing the stairs to get to Louis’ room when he pauses on the landing.

 

'Louis you are thirty-one years old! You are an adult! You pay taxes! You can make your bloody bed!'

 

Harry freezes at the sound of their shouting and looks down the way at Louis' open door, feeling relieved at the sight of Eleanor grinning and chucking a pillow at Louis, presumably. Or else just chucking a pillow at his bed.

 

Harry knocks on the doorframe lightly. ‘Am I interrupting?’

 

‘Do you make your bed?’ Eleanor asks him, ignoring the question.

 

‘Yes?’

 

Eleanor shoots Louis a pointed look. Louis rolls his eyes and winks at Harry, holding a pillow against his chest. ‘Make your bed.’ She tells Louis one last time before brushing past Harry to leave his room.

 

‘Can I come in?’ Harry asks, hovering when Louis chucks his pillow back onto the floor.

 

‘Sure,’ Louis straightens out his duvet before looking at Harry, ‘What can I do for you?’

 

‘I was coming to see if you needed someone to run lines with again,’ Harry says unsurely, stepping into the room as Louis organises the pillows at the head of his bed.

 

Louis turns his back to him and sorts through the chaos on top of his dressing table until he brandishes a copy of his script victoriously. ‘That would be great. It seems my other copy is missing in action, so we’ll have to share. Take a seat.’

 

Harry climbs onto his freshly made bed when Louis gestures towards it, climbing on himself and sitting back against the headboard before flicking through the script to find the right place. Harry kicks off his shoes before shuffling closer to Louis so that he can see.

 

‘Start,’ Louis drags his finger down the page as he skims for the right before pointing to a line near the bottom, ‘here.’

 

‘Listen to me, Arthur, you are going to die.’ Harry reads, then pauses. ‘That’s a bit cheesy.’

 

Louis swats him with his script. ‘I’m not going win an Oscar if you keep criticising it.’

 

‘I had no idea that I had so much sway with the academy,’ Harry banters, narrowly avoiding a second swat. ‘Alright, I’m sorry, I’ll keep my thoughts to myself from now on,’

 

‘Thank you.’

 

They make it to the end of the scene without hitch, but Harry loses interest shortly after that. Louis’ busy reciting a long speech when Harry tilts his head and interrupts, ‘Have you always wanted to be an actor?’

 

Louis sighs and shakes his head. ‘I guess we’re done for today.’ He closes the script and sets it down on his bedside table, then turns to face Harry.

 

‘Yes Harry, I have always wanted to be an actor. What magazine are you from again?’

 

Harry grins. ‘Horse and Hound.’

 

‘You’re a nightmare,’ Louis tuts, ‘but good film reference.’

 

 

 

 

‘Try letting the water cover your nose,’ Harry explains, sinking deeper into the water until half his face is submerged. He breathes through his nose so that the water bubbles. ‘Like that. Can you try?’

 

Libby copies him, but ends up coughing when she breathes in pool water. Harry pats her back until her stops. ‘It’s sore,’ she whines, rubbing her nose.

 

That’s probably as far as they’re going to get for the day, so Harry just suggests that Libby practice her backstroke a bit before they get out. Libby does ten widths before deciding she’s had enough and she climbs out of the pool, letting Harry wrap a large towel around her shoulders.

 

He dries himself off with his own towel and ties it around his middle before following Libby to the patio table where he’s set out a plate of sandwiches.

 

‘Are you excited for your birthday?’ Harry asks.

 

Libby nods enthusiastically. ‘Yes, because, um,’ she starts with her mouth full, ‘Mummy says I get to dress like Ariel and,’ she looks around the garden as she takes a huge bite of her sandwich, ‘Because I’m getting presents.’

 

Crap, Harry’s in charge of her costume. He’s going to need to find an Ariel costume. He doesn’t even know what he’s going to dress as.

 

He’ll think of something later, he decides, before clearing his throat to get Libby’s attention. ‘Today we’re going to learn the weather, okay Libbs?’

 

 

 

 

He does not have the strength to scold Libby when she pulls him into the back garden, through the forest of bushes. Well, it’s a forest for Libby and Harry’s lower legs.

 

Libby tugs him down to the ground once they’ve reached their apparent destination of Mulberry Bush. ‘It’s a beautiful plant Libbs, but why the secrecy?’

 

Libby picks a red berry and shoves it at him, which Harry then pops into his mouth. He grimaces at the sour taste before plastering on a smile when she looks at him. She picks her own berry and keeps it in the palm of her hand, checking to make sure he’s watching before squashing it with her fingers. ‘Now do yours.’ She commands.

 

‘But I ate mine.’

 

‘Harry! They are for painting, not eating!’

 

‘Oh! Sorry,’ Harry offers, getting a frustrated huff and eye roll in response before Libby thrusts another berry at him.

 

‘Don’t eat it.’ She warns, before squinting at him until he squashes it and his hands are coloured a bright fuchsia. ‘Now we use it as paint.’

 

Harry is about to ask _where_ they’re meant to paint, but before he can, Libby smears her pink fingers against the cream-coloured garden walls. Harry should stop her, but she looks too happy. Besides, the back wall is hardly visible unless you squint hard enough, he reasons.

 

He runs his fingers over the wall in what he means to be a heart, sitting back to admire his work. ‘No, you’ve done it wrong!’ Libby exclaims, and Harry has to hold in his laughter as Libby squashes a berry directly onto the wall to make her own version of a heart. ‘See?’

 

‘Yes, of course,’ he placates, setting about copying her technique. Within twenty minutes, the cream wall is no longer cream but rather pinkish-red, covered by an uneven layer of sticky mulberry-juice. Finally satisfied with her work, Libby sits down and pops a berry into her mouth. Harry draws his hands away from the wall and gawps at her.

 

‘They’re for painting, not eating, Olivia!’

 

Libby giggles and shakes her head so that her ponytail swishes. ‘No, they’re for eating now.’

 

Harry sighs dramatically before dropping from his knees to sit cross-legged. He reaches for a berry and bites into it, moving it around in his mouth with his tongue so that when he smiles at Libby, his teeth are pink. She squeals with laughter, sticking out her berry-tinted tongue at him.

 

When Harry hears the creak of the patio doors, he’s got a mulberry shoved up his one nostril. ‘Libby? Harry?’ Eleanor calls out from the patio, and Harry brings his finger up to his lips. Libby rushes to copy him, sitting with her index finger pressed to her pursed lips as they both try to stop giggling.

 

Eleanor calls out again, and when Harry leans up to look over one of the bushes, he sees her standing with her hands on her hips and looking towards the sand-pit. He ducks back down when she starts to turn, widening his eyes at Libby.

 

As soon as he’s sure Eleanor has gone back inside, he raised his eyebrows at Libby and exhales through his nose, so that the mulberry shoots out. Libby shrieks with laughter, collapsing into the earth as Harry tries and fails to stop himself laughing.

 

'I want to be Jane for my party.' Libby says out of the blue, as soon as they've stopped laughing.

 

Harry stops trying to draw a star with crushed mulberry and frowns. 'I thought you wanted to be Ariel?' He managed to download a pattern to make a mini mermaid skirt last night, but now he’s going to have to try to find one for a Jane dress. Brilliant.

 

But it does give him an idea for his costume.

 

 

 

 

After finishing his morning sun salutations, Harry wanders down to the kitchen to make himself coffee. He’s planned a trip to the Natural History Museum for the day, because he’s been slacking on his educational duties. Though they might go to the movies afterwards.

 

Eleanor traipses into the kitchen in her silky pyjamas and fluffy slippers greets him with a smile before she hops up to sit on the Aga.

 

‘Would you like coffee?’ Harry asks, opening the mug cabinet and hovering until she answers the affirmative.

 

She looks away from her phone when he passes her coffee, crossing her legs at the ankles. She waits until he’s sat at the island to speak. ‘Would you mind if I took Libby out for the day? My day just cleared up, and I was thinking of taking her Birthday shopping.’

 

‘Of course!’ Harry rushes to assure her. He can reschedule his plans. This might give him time to brainstorm present ideas or think about applying to universities for next year. Well, probably just brainstorming present ideas.

 

He and Eleanor climb the stairs together, parting so that Harry can wake Libby up and Eleanor can go get ready.

 

Libby insists on choosing her own outfit, and she ends up looking just like a mini-Eleanor. In yellow wellies.

 

She’s so excited about going shopping with Eleanor that she refuses to stay still when Harry’s plaiting her hair, resulting in two very lopsided French plaits. She’s not even bothered, happy to skip out the bathroom the moment Harry’s tied ribbons around the ends of her plaits. She stomps down the stairs, Harry trailing after.

 

‘Come along,’ Eleanor calls, pushing her sunglasses on and smiling warmly. Libby skips over to her and instantly grabs for her beige coat, waving to Harry as she follows her mum out to the car.

 

Louis appears at the foot of the stairs once they’re gone, his hair wet from the shower and dripping onto his denim jacket.

 

‘El told me you basically have the day off, but I have to get some shopping done and was wondering if you wanted to come along? We can get breakfast?’

 

Thinking of presents or breakfast with Louis Tomlinson, what a tough decision. ‘I’d love to, just let me go get dressed.’

 

Harry meets him out front ten minutes later. They drive in Louis’ car, their first stop at Harrods where Louis spends an inordinate amount of money. They have a quick brunch at Pret before they go to Hamleys and Louis spends even more money.

 

Harry feels exhausted, and part of him regrets agreeing to come along, but at least the end is in sight. Or at least he thinks it is, until Louis finishes loading all his purchases in the boot and says, ‘Would you mind if we made one last stop?’

 

‘Why not,’ Harry sighs, climbing back into Louis’ car. It’s only a few minutes until Louis finds a parking spot across the road from Alexander McQueen.

 

‘I need to pick up my suit,’ Louis offers as explanation as he and Harry cross the road, holding the door open for Harry to walk through.

 

Harry browses while Louis’ busy, eyeing the shoe display. There’s a light touch to his elbow as Louis appears by his side.

 

‘They’re getting it for me,’ he explains, before admiring the shoe selection, ‘They’re nice.’

 

‘They’re lovely,’ Harry sighs, eyeing the pair of black monk boots with gold toe caps.

 

‘You’re interested in fashion then?’

 

Harry nods. ‘I guess. I just haven’t bought new boots in ages and it’s killing me.’

 

‘Trying to save?’

 

‘Sort of,’ Harry shrugs, ‘my mum spoiled me and supported me financially while I was studying. Having to look after myself responsibly doesn’t allow for shopping trips every weekend,’

 

Louis frowns. ‘Are we not paying you enough?’

 

‘God, no! You’re paying me more than enough, it’s just terrifying being in charge of my own finances. Knowing what’s going on in my bank account makes me a bit cautious about buying anything, I suppose.’

 

‘But if you’ve got a steady income and can afford to pay rent and feed yourself with some left over –‘

 

‘Yes, but you never know,’ Harry interjects with a smile. ‘What if I got a deadly disease and couldn’t afford the cure because I’d splurged on a nice suit?’

 

‘At least you’d look good.’ Harry strolls away from the shoes towards the shirts, Louis following after him as Harry touches everything. ‘Do you have a nice suit?’

 

Harry turns to face him with raised eyebrows. ‘Pardon?’

 

‘Do you have a nice suit?’

 

‘It depends on what you consider to be a nice suit,’ Harry answers, thinking of his old special-occasion-suit. He does not think it’s very nice.

 

Louis remains quiet and walks behind Harry as he admires mannequins dressed in perfectly tailored suits.

 

‘Would you like a nice suit?’ Louis asks, eventually.

 

Harry tries to protest, but somehow he ends up in the back room, being scrutinised by three smartly dressed employees. Louis sits back on the couch in the corner and watches as Harry strips off. He alternates between his phone and Harry in the battle of what can hold his attention longer, until Harry seems to win for Louis watches him closely as he's measured, even closer as he's dressed in a three piece suit like some little dress up doll.

 

'That's lovely. Maybe in grey, but a dark grey.'

 

Harry can hardly protest before he's manhandled into a similar bullet grey affair, positioned in front of the mirror. He looks at Louis in the mirror, sees his eyes drinking him in approvingly.

 

'What do you think?'

 

It takes a moment to realise that he's being spoken too, but once he does, he nods overenthusiastically. 'What do you really think?'

 

'I don't like the shirt much.'

 

'Can I have a different shirt? Something soft and silky, maybe.'

 

Harry nods in agreement. He'd probably nod even if Louis ordered everyone to dress him in a ball gown.

 

He feels like Pretty Woman, being waited on hand and foot as he’s dressed in expensive clothing. After much fuss and a lot of disbelief on Harry’s part, Louis buys him a charcoal suit that fits him perfectly, a pink polka-dot shirt, and a pale silk shirt.

 

Harry keeps the garment bag in his lap as they drive back home, a frown forming on his face. He looks over at Louis and then back at his suit. Louis just bought him the most expensive thing he now owns for no reason. Harry feels very confused, but pushes it down.

 

 

 

 

He feels grateful to be home and away from the Calder-Tomlinsons. Home is good. Home doesn’t overwhelm him with confusion.

 

Harry squeezes himself into his tightest pair of jeans and pulls on a striped shirt over. He’s already dressed when Zayn gets home, fully prepared to go out stag if Zayn rejects his invite for a bar night.

 

‘Someone’s feeling horny,’ Zayn comments when he sees him, raising a judgemental eyebrow. Harry shrugs and follows him into his room. He sits down on his wheelie chair and spins it round to face him as he pulls off his street clothes.

 

‘I need to go out,’ Harry tells him. He feels off-kilter and iffy. Therefore, the only way for him to feel tip-top again is by fucking out his sexual frustrations. ‘I’m in dying need of a good lay.’

 

‘I’ve got new porn if that will do the trick.’

 

‘Ooh, send it to me later? But I think right now I need the real thing,’ Harry says with a shrug.

 

‘Chicks or dicks?’ Zayn asks, pulling on a grey t-shirt.

 

‘Don’t be crass,’ Harry chastises, standing up and walking over to him to play around with his hair. ‘I’m not sure yet. Are you coming with me?’

 

The answer lies in whichever bottoms Zayn chooses to pull on, and Harry sags in defeat when Zayn reaches for a pair of joggers and not jeans.

 

‘Not tonight, babe. I just wanna stay in.’

 

Something akin to sadness forms inside him when Zayn walks out of his grasp and Harry is left to watch the muscles shift in his back. He feels so far away. Harry’s known Zayn for as long as he can remember, and he knows that sometimes Zayn gets drained and needs some time before Harry can bug him again, but.

 

It’s never felt like this before. Harry’s used to Zayn withdrawing from the world, but he’s never felt so unwelcome and out of place. He feels like he’s intruding, almost as though Zayn is just waiting for him to leave. Zayn’s back is turned to him, and Harry realises that Zayn doesn’t want him there.

 

The realisation makes panic flood through him at record speed. He doesn’t know what to do with himself when for a moment, Zayn feels like a stranger.

 

So he does the only thing he knows and closes the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Zayn and kissing the back of his neck. He knows it’s stupid, but he can’t stop himself kissing his neck and breathing against his skin, murmuring, ‘I can stay in with you. You can fuck me.’

 

‘Harry,’ Zayn sighs. It’s enough to bring Harry to his senses, and he recoils instantly. He feels embarrassed and confused and shocked at his own insensitivity.

 

‘I’m sorry. Sorry.’ Harry apologises, running his hand through his hair and plastering on a smile when Zayn turns to look at him. ‘I’ll be back later.’

 

‘Stay safe,’ Zayn offers, climbing into bed and giving Harry a lopsided smile.

 

 

 

 

No better way to start a week than with Swan Lake, Harry thinks to himself as he sits at the back of Libby’s ballet class and hums along to the familiar melody.

 

Niall’s half-asleep in the chair next to him, his head resting heavily on Harry’s shoulder. Harry flinches when his breath puffs out against his neck, tickling him. He tries to ignore him as he re-focuses his attention on his phone, where he’s got his Notes open to try to make a list of what he still needs to do before Libby’s birthday.

 

He went over to Nick’s on Saturday to steal a pair of his boots for the week and to help scratch his itch. After he’d successfully done both, he and Nick had taken Pig out for a walk. Harry popped into a fabric shop to buy yellow, white, and brown fabric on his way home, and managed cut out his pattern and start on one sleeve before dinner. Eat your heart out, Martha Stewart, he thinks.

 

Now he just faces the struggle of trying to think of a gift for Libby. He taps his thumb against the side of his phone in thought, eyes catching on Libby demonstrating her leap for the rest of her class. Damn Louis and Eleanor for being so bloody indulgent, it makes thinking of a gift unnecessarily difficult.

 

After ballet, it’s straight to swimming. It’s sweet really, that Savannah’s decided to start swimming because of Libby. It means that now Harry has someone to pass the time with, and that he doesn’t have to just choke on chlorine for an hour. It’s also nice, because Harry and Niall can actually talk at swimming without being barked at by Carol.

 

The hour flies by, and soon a damp Libby and Savannah are bounding out of the changing rooms, changed out of their swimming costumes.

 

'You hungry?' Niall asks Savannah. She nods enthusiastically. Harry has come to learn in the past hour that Niall often forgets to pack lunch boxes for her, and today doesn't look to be any different. Niall turns to him. 'What do you think about brunch? We can go get some omelettes or something,'

 

Libby's lunch box is in his bag, but why not?

 

Niall chooses where they go, so he and Libby sing along with Aurora as they drive behind his car. He realises, as he holds Libby’s hand to cross the road, that excessive brunches are probably not doing much good for his financial issues.

 

‘What do you want to eat, Libbs?’ he asks after they’ve ordered drinks.

 

‘Pasta,’ Libby says with a hint of finality.

 

‘Is pasta suitable for brunch?’ Harry asks Niall, reading through the menu to find something Libby will like. Niall shrugs, which he takes as a yes. ‘Then yes, you can have pasta if that’s what you want.’

 

Libby beams at him.

 

 

 

 

Harry parks outside the Calder-Tomlinson home, next to a glossy, black Mercedes Benz.

 

He helps Libby out of the car and watches her run inside before he goes over to admire the new car. He hears the crunch of gravel approaching him, stopping at his side.

 

'It's new.'

 

'It's gorgeous.'

 

Harry's always had a thing for cars. Not as much as some other people he knows, but he'll watch _Top Gear_ if it's on, and he can appreciate a good classic convertible.

 

'I always wanted a sports car, but when you have children you need to be practical.' Louis chuckles to himself, resting his hand on the car. 'And I thought it would be smarter to go big, just in case I manage to expand my brood one day.'

 

'You want more children?'

 

Louis gets this dreamy look on his face. 'I've always wanted a big family.'

 

'Me too.'

 

It's just a moment, but Louis' eyes soften and he looks at Harry differently to how he ever has before. It's over in a second, and Louis' attention is rather grabbed by the shiny Mercedes emblem. It goes uncomfortably silent between them.

 

He lost his virginity in a Mercedes. 'I lost my virginity in a Mercedes,' Harry blurts out. Louis raises his eyebrow, which Harry reads as a sign to continue. 'It was her dad's car, parked in the driveway while her family was asleep inside.'

 

'Sexy.'

 

Harry snorts. 'Not quite. Neither of us had any idea what we were doing, and we agreed to stop halfway because we were getting nowhere.'

 

He giggles at the memory, Louis joining in before they taper off back into silence. Louis gets this thoughtful look on his face, tracing over the emblem again.

 

'When did you lose your second virginity then?'

 

'My second virginity.' He repeats it slowly, giving Louis time to rephrase his ridiculous question.

 

'You know, your gay virginity.'

 

'My gay virginity.'

 

'You know what I mean.'

 

He does. He decides to let it go for now. 'That was a bit later.' He smiles at the memory, thinking about him and Zayn, nervous and giddy and fumbling around under his blanket before his family was meant to come home. Zayn was so tentative, pressed into him slowly and kissed him to take his mind off the pain.

 

Harry shakes the memory away. He admires the car a little longer before going inside.

 

 

 

 

‘Eleanor said you can come, if you want to.’ Zayn hums over the phone. Harry senses that he’s going to say no, so he adds, ‘I’d like it if you did.’

 

Zayn sighs. ‘I’ve got work in the afternoon, but alright, I’ll come.’

 

‘You can leave early,’ Harry tells him. He’s been working hard on Libby’s dress all week, and he is sick and tired of sewing. ‘Bugger.’ he mutters, sucking his finger into his mouth after pricking himself again. Once the sting dies down, he soldiers on with ruching. Damn Disney and their overcomplicated costumes. He called Zayn in the hopes that he would give him a good pep talk, but all he’s done is laugh at Harry’s pain.

 

‘I know this may shock you, but there are places where you can go to rent children’s costumes.’

 

‘Wow, really? If only I’d known that before getting myself into this mess. Wow Zayn, I don’t know what I’d do without you!’

 

‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Harry.’

 

‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Harry’ Harry repeats in his best Zayn impersonation.

 

 

 

 

Since the party is on Saturday morning, he’s staying over on Friday night, and since Eleanor and Louis are excessive and have practically filled Eleanor’s walk-in with presents, he spends Friday night helping them wrap.

 

After he’s finally managed to put Libby to bed – who was so excited that he’d had to read the whole of chapter 11 before she’d fallen asleep – he joins Eleanor and Louis on the carpet in the lounge. Louis ensures that everyone’s wineglasses are topped up and tries to get out of doing any work by taking on the responsibility of cutting strips of Sellotape and sticking them around the edge of a salad bowl.

 

Eleanor’s been overworking herself all week with party prep, and come midnight, there are only a few presents left that still need to be wrapped. She’s clearly exhausted, so Louis convinces her to go get some rest.

 

Harry finishes wrapping the last few presents in no time, while Louis lies on his side and watches him, nursing his wine instead of being helpful. As soon as Harry’s finished, he stretches out on the soft carpet next to Louis with a satisfied smile.

 

‘More wine?’ Louis offers. Harry feels exhausted, but he accepts anyway.

 

It’s quiet between them, and Harry’s sure he could fall asleep if he tried hard enough. His eyes slip closed until Louis disturbs the silence.

 

‘How did you realise?’ Louis asks. Harry frowns.

 

‘Realise what?’

 

‘That you’re gay?’

 

‘I’m not gay.’ Harry sits up slowly, looking down at Louis. He just stares up at him and blinks. ‘I like women too.’

 

‘Okay, then how did you realise that didn’t liked women too, not just only?’

 

‘Do you mean how did I realise I like men?’

 

‘Have you always been this sharp then, Styles?’

 

‘Shut up.’ Harry rolls his eyes but lowers himself back down to the carpet nevertheless, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his hand. ‘I guess I never thought about it. I didn’t start out thinking that I only liked one gender, I just liked both.’

 

‘Just like that?’

 

‘I mean, I guess. At some point I realised that I enjoyed talking to my friends about tits, but they didn’t enjoy talking to me about cock.’ He watches Louis’ face closely, looking for any sign of emotion, but his poker-face remains perfectly composed. ‘Why the interest?’

 

Louis makes a face like he’s licked a permanent marker. ‘Was just wondering what could make one man want to sleep with another, I guess,’

 

‘Well,’ Harry all but purrs, leaning closer to Louis and batting his eyelashes. Louis rolls his eyes before he lifts his hand to give an effortless swat in Harry’s direction.

 

‘God, you’re seduction skills need some improvement, mate,’ Louis chortles, prompting Harry to roll over onto his front, pressed up against Louis’ side.

 

‘Speak for yourself.’ Louis bats at him again, but his laughter trails off and he stares up at the ceiling blankly once more. Harry regards him long enough to gauge whether or not he’s serious, and after deciding it’s the former, he closes his eyes. ‘I think it’s sometimes just the person as a whole.’

 

‘Pardon?’

 

Harry doesn’t bother opening his eyes before he continues. ‘Sometimes you are just so attracted to a person that you don’t even see their gender. I know that’s how I generally feel. But, when it comes to sleeping with men,’ he pauses, opening his eyes to see Louis rolled over onto his side and watching him with rapt attention, ‘I know I always like it when a man touches my waist, or my neck,’

 

He trails off, lifting his hand to brush his fingertips over his neck before he closes his eyes again. ‘I like it when he has stubble, and I like a good pair of biceps. When a man looks me in the eye or touches my mouth,’

 

He trails off, lapsing back into silence.

 

‘How did you lose your other virginity?’ Louis asks softly. Harry frowns in confusion, before he twigs with realisation.

 

'I was sixteen. I told my mum I wasn't feeling well and went extremely overboard because it felt like she knew somehow. Like, the full Monty of faking sick.'

 

'Baby powder and everything?'

 

'Baby powder and everything.' He confirms. 'So she and Robin went out to dinner, and the second they pulled out of the driveway Zayn came over.' He smiles at the memory, himself young and saying goodbye in a forced croaky voice. He can still remember Zayn's face when he'd leapt out of bed, standing at the top of the stairs and making eye contact with Zayn as he stood in doorway, and how his heart got stuck in his throat.

 

'We went up to my room and couldn't stop giggling. I remember going through all the rooms of the house looking for candles and eventually had to use the set of tea candles mum kept in the scullery.'

 

'This was before your candle phase?'

 

'Yeah, way before.' He had set them up around his room while Zayn got himself ready in the bathroom. It was only years later that he confessed that he was doing press-ups and trying not to puke. 'My hands wouldn't stop shaking, and even though Zayn had seen my naked millions of times before, I couldn't bring myself to get undressed.'

 

They had turned their backs to one another as they stripped off, before climbing into Harry's bed on opposite sides. They'd met shyly in the middle, kissing breathlessly and keeping their hands strictly above the waist.

 

'He'd put on one of his cousin's RnB playlists and would hardly look at me until I held his hand and told him I loved him.' Louis doesn't interrupt him, hanging onto his every word as Harry lets himself revisit the memory he's tried to suppress. 'We were so scared of my parents coming home early. It was over in a few minutes, but I swear I had never felt happier in my entire life.'

 

He trails off, getting choked up when he lets the memory play out.

 

'Why did you split up?'

 

Harry tries to shake off the memory of Zayn's crestfallen expression, tears in his eyes before he'd pulled away and left.

 

'We were children,' Harry sighs, closing his eyes, 'He wanted something I couldn't give him, and we both handled it badly.'

 

'I'm sorry.'

 

'Not your fault.'

 

 

 

 

Harry looks out his window on Saturday morning and sees the back garden full of chairs and tables that have already been set up, and a jumping castle in the process of being inflated.

 

By the time he’s dressed-up in costume, there is nothing left to be done outside, so he heads into the kitchen to see if he can help in any way.

 

It looks chaotic and reminds Harry of when he came to do his interview, but Marta seems to have everything under control, so Harry slinks off and decides to seek out Louis.

 

‘Nice costume,’ Louis compliments when he opens his bedroom door to let Harry in. Harry’s got his hair down, and he’s wearing a raggedly cut strip of fabric as a loin-cloth for his Tarzan costume. Because he doesn’t want to scar everyone with an age-inappropriate costume, he’s also wearing a nude t-shirt that he’s drawn a six-pack on.

 

He sits on Louis’ bed while he gets ready. He and Eleanor are dressing up as Rodger and Anita from _101 Dalmatians_.

 

Once Louis and Eleanor are dressed, they both wake up Libby and let her open a few special presents. Harry hangs back in the doorway until they’re done so that he can help Libby get ready. Libby opens a beautiful silver music box, a pair of satin ballet slippers, and a heart-shaped locket.

 

Louis rushes off to run a last minute errand that only Eleanor seems to know about, refusing to tell Harry where he’s going before he leaves, and Eleanor goes downstairs to check everything, leaving Harry and Libby alone.

 

He brushes out her hair and ties it up into a messy bun, letting wisps of hair frame her face. Her face lights up when he shows her dress for the first time, and she doesn’t stay still as he tries to zip her up. She twirls around giddily, beyond pleased, before she hugs Harry tight around the middle. As soon as she lets go, she’s running off to show whoever she can find.

 

Zayn arrives surprisingly early, looking better than anticipated. Harry e-mailed him a few links for last-minute costumes, but he wasn’t expecting much, so Zayn’s Maleficent costume impresses him greatly. Harry catches Eleanor as she passes to introduce them, and then introduces him to Libby, who takes an instant shining to him.

 

He leaves Zayn in Libby’s company when guests start to arrive. The garden is full by 11, bursting with little girls in sparkly costumes and caterers in all-black and parents milling around. The photographer Eleanor hired weaves throughout the garden to capture every moment.

 

It’s chaos, but Libby seems to be having the time of her life. The present table is piled high with perfectly wrapped gifts, and the jumping castle is full of giddy children. Harry goes to help at the face-paint station, catching glimpses of Niall and Zayn and occasionally Louis as he paints butterflies.

 

Once everyone has had a turn, Harry is free to stroll through the garden. Niall and Zayn seem to be getting along, chatting beside the fountain. Harry goes over to join them, but he's stopped by Louis, who tugs on his wrist until he's facing Louis and a man in an impressive Hercules costume.

 

‘This is Liam. He’s the one who keeps me on the bankroll and out of gossip rags.’

 

‘Sixteen leading roles I’ve gotten you, and that’s the best you can come up with?’ He scoffs, but Harry can tell it’s in jest. He turns to Harry then, unleashing his warm white-toothed smile onto him. ‘Great to meet you, I’ve heard nothing but good things.’

 

He shakes Harry’s hand so firmly that for a moment he’s scared his shoulder might come out of his socket. ‘Same to you,’ Harry replies politely, even though generally, when Louis mentions him, he’s calling him names.

 

Eleanor brings out the cake and Libby goes to stand beside her on the patio. Harry realises that Louis is no longer next to him, and he searches for Louis in the crowd but doesn’t spot him. Eleanor holds her little girl’s hand as everyone sings for her, Libby grinning and bouncing up and down as she eyes her cake hungrily.

 

She leans forward to blow out her candles when Louis walks through the French doors, coming up behind her and holding a tiny Dalmatian puppy in his arms. It’s only when Eleanor bends down and whispers to her that Libby turns around and sees her dad.

 

She shrieks with joy, starting to sob as Louis crouches down and holds the puppy out to her. Libby drops down onto her bum heavily, tears streaming down her cheeks as she hugs the Dalmatian. It makes Harry wish he’d recorded it.

 

Both Zayn and the caterers leave by 2, an hour before the party’s meant to end. A woman dressed up as Cinderella arrives to perform, which under different circumstances would have awed Libby, but she’s so enamoured with her new pet that she doesn’t even bat an eyelid at the arrival of the princess look-alike.

 

Harry takes the opportunity to escape the madness and goes to see the state of the kitchen.

 

He starts wiping down the counters and taking empty trays back to the scullary, packing leftovers into tupperwares.

 

'What are you doing?'

 

Harry startles and drops the plate of biscuits he was holding. He feels great relief when the plate doesn't break, crouching down to clean up the mess. Louis rushes over to help him, offering him a hand to help him stand after.

 

'Don't surprise me like that!'

 

Louis giggles and doesn't look guilty in the slightest.

 

Louis stays out of his way and keeps quiet while Harry tidies, but he scares Harry again when he's in the scullary by appearing behind him.

 

'You've got something,' Louis breathes, how voice low and soft when he looks at Harry in a way that makes his insides melt. He reaches up and wipes the corner of Harry's mouth with his thumb. Harry doesn't think before he's wrapping his lips around his thumb and sucking it clean. Louis watches him with wide eyes, and before Harry can say anything, Louis' kissing him.

 

He presses Harry up against the fridge, clinging on to the front of his top as Harry pulls at his hair desperately. Louis hitches his thigh up to wrap around his hip, pressing impossibly closer as he kisses Harry breathless.

 

Harry cups his jaw with both hands and pulls his face upwards and closer, arching into him as he parts his lips as invitation for Louis to taste him. His nails dig into the back of his thigh and Harry huffs out a gasp into his mouth as his hand sneaks under his top to grab at his waist. He holds onto him tightly, keeping Harry pressed up against him as Harry’s shoulders knock against the aluminium finish of the refrigerator again.

 

He grabs at a handful of Louis’ gelled coif, mussing it up and tugging hard so that Louis adjusts his hold on his thigh, forcing Harry to stand on his toes to stay on the ground. His hand slides up his thigh and Harry moans softly before he breaks their kiss and his head knocks back against the door.

 

Before he can even take in another breath, his leg is being lowered back to the ground, and the hand on his waist disappears. Harry’s eyes spring open to meet Louis’. He stares at Harry in disbelief, the picture of terror as he reaches to ease Harry’s hands off him, before he back peddles, and leaves Harry alone in the kitchen.

 

He suppresses the urge to slump down onto the floor, rather keeping a stiff upper lip as he returns to wiping down the counter. Harry feels like he’s walking in a daze, his feet carrying him out to the patio where he stands and looks out over the dying party.

 

Libby’s sat on Louis’ shoulders right in the middle of it, her dress hiked up so that yellow fabric is bunched up around his ears. He pointedly doesn’t look at Harry when Harry sees him, going as far as to turn his back.

 

Harry has to leave.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Harry climbs into his car and just sits, staring at his hands as they rest on the steering wheel. His ring from Ben (‘It’s from Harry Winston,’ Ben told him before taking the box from his hands, so that he could slip the ring onto Harry’s fourth finger of his left hand, ‘Think of it as a promise.’ ) feels heavy on his finger, and he doesn’t even think before he’s pulling it off and chucking it into the cup-holder. It feels like a part of him is set free.

 

He feels like breathing gets harder the further away from the house he gets, and he feels like he’s drowning by the time he reaches South London, all the emotions he’s tried so hard to repress the past few months smothering him.  As he drives home, he exceeds the speed limit whenever the roads aren’t back-logged with traffic. He drives in complete silence, chewing on his thumbnail until he pulls up outside his building. He idles on the side of the road, looking up at the block of flats.

 

He wants to go curl up in his bed, but he’s scared about where his mind may roam if he’s left alone, so despite his state, he turns his car around and starts driving to Zayn’s hospital.

 

He’s not thinking at all, so he doesn’t consider the fact that he’s barefoot and wearing a fake-abs t-shirt until he’s parked outside the hospital. The moment he realises, it’s like his mind clears and he’s forced into an awful state of clarity.

 

Louis Tomlinson is his boss. He’s just kissed his boss. Nick has been distant since Harry said they weren’t dating. He’s lost Nick. His boss kissed him. Zayn hasn’t forgiven him. He hasn’t forgiven himself. He misses Ben. He misses his mum. Louis Tomlinson is his boss.

 

He just stays in his car, staring into space, until the siren of an ambulance sounds in the distance and he snaps out of it. He shakes his head, as if trying to erase the thoughts like an Etch a Sketch.

 

He’s saved from humiliation by an old jumper that he’s got in his boot and a pair of Chelsea boots (which he was sure he had lost) hiding under the passenger seat. They’re very uncomfortable without socks. And with bare legs. The whole outfit is a mess.

 

He feels a vague sense of achievement when he takes the lift to the third floor, instead of going to the too-familiar A&E. He walks through reception assertively, so that he looks like he knows where he’s going, but once he’s past the nurse at the reception desk, he slows his pace and roams around aimlessly while keeping an eye open for Zayn. It’s only on his fourth time around the floor that he nearly walks straight into him.

 

Zayn takes half a step back and his eyes widen, his hand shooting out to stabilise Harry. He’s with a handful of other interns. Harry’s probably embarrassing him, showing up unexpected in a loin-cloth.

 

‘What are you doing here?’ Zayn’s eyes widen, before he smirks, ‘Did you have another accident?’

 

Harry crosses his arms over his chest. ‘I love you, is that not a good enough reason to come and visit you?’

 

‘Maybe if you’d actually come to visit me before,’ Zayn mirrors him and folds his arms over his chest, his eyes going soft ‘What’s wrong?’

 

‘Nothing,’ Harry tells him, fiddling with the frayed hem of his jumper.

 

‘Well if nothing’s wrong then you best leave because I’m actually busy.’

 

Zayn looks at him expectantly. Harry sighs. ‘When do you have lunch?’

 

‘Go wait in the caf, I’ll be there in ten minutes. Okay?’

 

Harry nods and watches Zayn walk off with his medical friends.

 

The canteen is down on the first floor, and buying food is like playing a round of Russian Roulette. You can never be too sure; something can taste like a culinary masterpiece one day, and a dog’s breakfast the next. The wraps are the only safe option because of their consistent state of averageness.

 

But because Harry feels like shit and apparently wants to punish himself, he buys himself a paper cup of butternut soup and a cappuccino muffin on a whim. By the time he sits down at an open table, his soup has already separated, but his muffin is delicious, so there’s that.

 

Zayn only joins him half an hour later, by which time Harry has gobbled down two more muffins. Apparently inner-turmoil makes him hungry.

  

Zayn gets into the thick of things as soon as he sits down. ‘What’s up?’

 

Harry stares down at his muffin wrapper, scraping the residue off with his thumb. He waits until Zayn starts eating his wrap to tell him. ‘Louis kissed me.’

 

‘I thought that would be a good thing?’

 

Harry shakes his head. ‘I’m just…confused. Because he’s told me he’s straight and I respect that, but,’

 

‘But he’s given you reason to believe he’s interested.’ Zayn finished for him.

 

Harry shrugs and folds the muffin wrapper in half. ‘I’m not about to be that dick and ignore what he said just because I’ve probably mentally-manipulated everything to think he might like me.’

 

‘Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I think you’ll just have to speak to him about it.’ Zayn shrugs, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

 

Harry sighs and pushes his chair back. ‘I think I’m just gonna go.’

 

‘See you later,’ Zayn greets.

 

Harry’s too busy staring down at the _Shining_ -esque floor pattern of the linoleum as he walk that he walks straight into someone, being jolted backwards before he looks up and sees Doctor Dreamy.

 

‘Oh, hi…again.’ Harry blurts out.

 

Doctor Dreamy stops and holds his clipboard to his chest. ‘You haven’t been around recently. No stitches needed at the moment?’

 

‘Um, no. I’m trying to cut down on trips to the hospital for the sake of my medical aide.’

 

He laughs, making Harry flush and want to melt into a puddle on the floor. ‘Good for you. But know that I’m always here if you ever find your toe stuck in a wine bottle again.’

 

No wait, now he wants to melt into a puddle. Harry says a quick goodbye before he rushes out of the hospital and tries to repress the memory of his party trick gone wrong.

 

 

 

 

On Monday morning, Harry sits down on the bench beside Niall. It bends under his weight and squeaks slightly.

 

'Have we been bad? Why've we been downgraded from chairs?' Harry asks, rather than letting it show how shocked he is that Niall isn’t late to ballet.

 

Niall shrugs and straightens out his legs. 'Probably needed them for another class. I just hope we get them back by next lesson; I've been sitting on this bench for the last five minutes and I already can't feel my ass. And speaking of asses, either you’ve got a sports injury, or else you spent your weekend sitting on a cactus.’

 

Harry gives Niall a very subtle middle finger and shifts around to get comfortable. ‘Piss off,’ he grumbles. He’s generally quite a fan of sex-ache, and quite likes the constant reminder of a fun night, but his ache is becoming a nuisance.

 

‘You’re walking like Clint Eastwood, mate,’

 

Harry hits his arm half-heartedly, sitting still as Carol indicates for the piano to start, and the girls start warming-up.

 

‘I’ve been stiff since Saturday,’ he sighs. He’d gone out after spending ten minutes by himself at the flat, and now he can hardly remember Friday night after that. He knows he woke up on Saturday alone in his bed, feeling like he’d done a full leg workout in his sleep. He felt proud for all of Saturday while he sat on a bag of frozen peas, but the novelty had worn off by Sunday. When he woke up this morning with a throbbing arse, he was not pleased. ‘I feel like I’ve been fucked by Lyndon Johnson.’

 

The woman squished up next to him on the bench shushes him. Niall looks at him like he’s gone mad.

 

‘He had a big dick,’ he elaborates, watching Libby skip with her head held high.

 

‘He did not!’ Niall whisper-shouts. The woman shushes them again.

 

‘He did,’ Harry argues, keeping his voice low, ‘Look it up.’

 

The bench fills up the closer to 8 it gets, until there are six of them squished together on the rickety little thing.

 

The practises are getting stricter as the summer concert looms overhead, and Carol looks a bit like she’s going to lose it. Niall swears he saw her trying to light a pencil instead of a cigarette; Harry swears Niall is lying.

 

Libby asks if she can change into her Jane dress the second they get home after swimming, insisting that she spend the rest of the day wearing it. Trying to teach her anything is a lost cause when he’s trying to compete with dress-up and a little Dalmatian puppy – now named Ruby.

 

Harry’s already feeling anxious enough about seeing Louis, and he doesn’t need the added strain, so he gives up and submits to letting Libby spend the afternoon watching CBeebies and playing with Ruby. While Libby might be content, he feels like he can’t sit still. He gets up and stalks into the kitchen, going back to the scullary, then back to the kitchen.

 

‘Looks like you had a good weekend,’ Eleanor teases when she sees him.

 

‘I went horse-riding,’ Harry tells her. She doesn’t believe him, if her laughter is anything to go by. Harry maintains his dignity by gritting his teeth through the discomfort and walking back to the lounge as best as he can.

 

He almost wants to blame Louis for his ongoing sex-ache, which is irrational, but if it weren’t for him then Harry never would have gone out in the first place. He does feel a bit irrationally mad at Louis, because he spent all weekend stewing in his slip-ups until it managed to evolve into some sort of mild anger/anxiety concoction.

 

It’s the bizarre hybrid that makes his palms start to sweat when, after putting Libby to bed, he goes back downstairs and walks into the kitchen to say goodnight to Eleanor, finding Louis sitting with her in the kitchen. He feels like he’s going to be sick.

 

He doesn’t even see Eleanor anymore as he focuses on not losing his nerve when he approaches Louis. Harry’s stomach is in knots. ‘Can I speak with you?’

 

Louis looks like a deer caught in headlights, looking over at Eleanor, and then back at Harry. Harry just raises his eyebrows and doesn’t wait for response before he’s leading the way outside. He contemplates taking Louis up to his room to talk, but he’s scared of what could happen.

 

Instead, he waits until he hears the sound of Louis’ shoes on the patio, then listens as he walks across the grass to reach Harry.

 

‘What was that?’ Harry asks, going for the throat.

 

‘What?’

 

‘Saturday. What was that?’ Louis flounders but Harry is too impatient to wait for his response. He’s sure to keep his voice low. ‘Why do you insist on fucking with my head?’

 

Louis still looks wide-eyed and frantic, so Harry softens his tone. ‘Listen, I like you Louis. I may be wrong, and as unbelievable as it is, sometimes it feels like you might like me as well.’ Harry pauses to give Louis opportunity to say something. ‘I really do like you, and not just in a celebrity-crush type way, but you make me feel so confused and it feels a bit like I’m going crazy –’

 

‘Harry,’ Louis says finally, running his fingers through his hair and looking everywhere but at Harry, ‘you need to understand that,’ Louis shakes his head and swears under his breath, ‘I have no idea what’s happening to me and I also feel confused and scared, because – fuck – sometimes I look at you and,’

 

Harry leans in as he waits for him to continue, but something in Louis changes, and in a second his face goes cold and he squeezes his eyes closed.

 

‘I’m your boss, Harry.’ He states the fact with such coldness that it feels like a hard slap across the face. Something in the way he says it makes it so that Harry can practically hear the echoes of every slur that’s ever been hurled at him.

 

‘Right,’ Harry starts, taking a step backwards, ‘shall we just pretend it never happened?’ Just like the pool, he tacks on in his head.

 

 

 

 

The week is tense at best, and Harry knows he’s acting like a passive-aggressive child, but he just wants to understand what’s going on in Louis’ head. He wishes his life were a movie, or a book, so that there could be a shift in perspective and he could see from Louis’ point of view.

 

On Wednesday, he sits through the entirety of Libby’s lesson with Ferida and Louis doesn’t come and ask him to run lines. He feels like he’s back in secondary and having a row with a friend. It’s honestly ridiculous. Even Libby and Savannah are better at resolving conflict.

 

Partial resolution only comes, surprisingly, when Eleanor has to leave again for her Burberry campaign.

 

He drives her to the airport, stopping at the Drop and Go to get her suitcase out of the boot. He idles to make sure she makes it into the building safely, then pulls away and drives back to the house as slow as legally possible.

 

Libby isn’t miserable, per say, she just opts to spend her time having hushed one-sided conversations with Ruby instead of cooperating with Harry. She is miserable, however, when Louis breaks the news that he needs to go to Paris for two days.

 

Libby readies herself to throw the tantrum to end all tantrums, but before she can even stomp her foot, Louis asks, ‘Do you want to come along?’

 

Harry picks Ruby up when Libby runs to hug her dad. He scratches her under the chin and frowns. ‘Does that mean I get the rest of the week off?’

 

Louis looks at him like he’d forgotten he was there, but then the shadow of a smile teases at the corner of his mouth. ‘I assumed you would come along.’

 

 

 

 

 

‘Will you mind sharing a room?’ Louis sounds cautious, turning the room key over in his hands. Harry tries to smile comfortingly as he adjusts his bag on his shoulder. He couldn’t care less, frankly. Libby had thrown a tantrum in the airport loos before their flight, and she’d started screaming when Harry said she wasn’t allowed any sweets until they got on the plane.

 

Louis got to sit with his earphones in throughout the short flight, fiddling around on his iPad, while Harry tried to calm Libby down after she’d started crying when her ears blocked after take-off, trying to entertain her with colouring-in books and activity pads. It was only when he’d started reading more Harry Potter to her that she’d finally fallen asleep. A grand ten minutes before landing.

 

The taxi ride from the airport was just as gruelling, if not worse, and now Harry doesn’t care if he has to sleep in a cupboard, as long as he can just have a minute of peace by himself to re-centre his energy and work through his negativity.

 

‘I wouldn’t have expected any less, actually.’

 

Louis smiles and looks relieved, before he takes Libby’s hand and Louis leads them towards the lift. They’re right on the top floor, in one of the five rooms on the floor. To his understanding, they’re here to do test-shootings with the cast and for all the real locations for scenes that won’t be filmed on sound stages. The rest of the crew is staying on the floor lower as well as a different hotel, and two other leading actors are on their floor. Louis refuses to tell them which two actors, though.

 

Harry doesn’t think he’s one to generally be impressed by luxury, but he feels a little breathless when he steps inside their suite. It seems a little flash to only stay in for two nights, but he’s definitely not complaining. It’s beautiful, very lavish and rococo.

 

He feels a bit ridiculous and tourist-y by how awed he feels when he stands out of the balcony, taking in the view. He can see the Eiffel tower, glittering on the horizon and surrounded by the twinkling city lights. His obvious awe probably does nothing to help his “man of the world” façade.

 

Libby comes to stand next to him, putting both hands up against railing and gasping. He’s aware of Louis and the concierge taking their bags through to the bedrooms, and God, how posh does a room need to be to have its own lounge area.

 

‘Look at all the Tinkerbells,’ Libby breathes, the bright lights reflecting in her eyes. Harry nods in understanding, restlessness and giddiness itching under his skin with the need to explore the new terrain.

 

He turns away from the view when Louis re-enters the room and pulls his wallet out of his pocket. ‘Will you be joining us for dinner, sir?’ the concierge asks as Louis counts out a tip for him.

 

Louis looks over at him and Libby. ‘You two feel like going for supper?’

 

Libby nods excitedly and hardly drags her eyes away from the skyline. It’s nice to know that at least he’s not the only one speechless from the view.

 

‘We would love to.’ The concierge nods at his answer, hands behind the back as he stands beside the front door.

 

‘I’ll make a reservation for three. Will 9 be too soon?’

 

‘No, that sounds perfect.’

 

The concierge nods once more before he exits, leaving the three of them alone in the ridiculously extravagant suite.

 

‘We’ve got about twenty minutes before supper, so would either of you like to freshen up?’

 

Harry picks Libby up and takes her through to the bedroom, taking a moment’s pause when he sees that there is only one bed.

 

‘Will it be a problem?’ Louis asks from behind him.

 

Harry thinks a moment. He knows that he occasionally slept in the same bed as his nanny when he was little, so that doesn’t seem too far out of the ordinary. But he can’t recall ever sleeping in the same bed as his nanny and his mum at the same time. It seems a bit odd and largely unprofessional, but if Louis and Libby are both fine, then he sees no reason to cause trouble. He can always sleep on the couch if need be.

 

‘Not at all. Unless you have a problem?’

 

Louis shakes his head and takes Libby from him, carrying her through to the bathroom and seating her down beside the basin so that he can wipe her face and hands with a wet washcloth. With Louis taking over his duties, he feels at a loss and decides to change.

 

After a moment of consideration, he rationalises that he’s going to be sharing a bed with Louis, so he should be able to strip down while he’s in the other room, at least. He pulls off his airport-scented jumper and decides his jeans should be fine. He crouches down to unzip his bag, digging around for one of the more formal shirts.

 

He pulls on a striped linen shirt and is in the process of doing up his buttons when Louis and Libby re-enter. Louis seems to be on a roll and helps Libby change out of her outfit and into the little velvet dress Harry packed for her.

 

While they get on, he takes his turn in the bathroom, splashing his face with cold water and washing his hands thoroughly. He takes a moment to himself and regards his reflection and runs his finger through his hair. It feels a bit greasy and stale from the airport, so he ties it up into a messy bun, tucking the loose, wispy strands behind his ears.

 

Upon entering the room, he is faced with Louis, standing in nought but his pants as he pulls on a pair of fresh trousers. He averts his eyes politely and passes him to leave the room, finding Libby sitting on one of the couches in the sitting area.

 

The five of them (him, Louis, Libby, and Libby’s two Cinderella Barbies) make their way down to the hotel restaurant together, walking into the hotel restaurant as a unit. The hostess leads them through the busy restaurant to a table at the back corner on a raised platform. They’re seated right beside the window, overlooking the courtyard at the back of the hotel.

 

They have dessert brought up to them in their room, so that they can eat it out on the balcony and marvel at the light scattered across the city like stardust. Libby forces them to sit down so that she and her Barbies can perform an impromptu after-dinner concert. Personally, Harry’s favourite scene was when Cinderella Royal Ball found out that Cinderella Wedding Day was actually a mouse.

 

Harry decides to jump in the shower to rid himself of the gritty airport feeling before bed, and Louis takes on the responsibility of getting Libby ready for bed. In the end, Harry does actually sleep on the couch, because after he’d gotten dressed into his pyjamas in the bathroom, he’d walked out into the room to see both Libby – tucked in, wearing her penguin pyjamas, and sucking her thumb – and Louis – still wearing his clothing, lying on top of the duvet – fast asleep.

 

He decided to rather risk the back-ache instead of intruding.

 

 

 

 

In theory, Louis’ next surprise in his quest to be the Best Dad Ever was brilliant. In practice, however…

 

Harry’s perception of Disneyland, he realises within the hour, is horribly romanticised and distorted. It was incredibly sweet of Louis to send them to Disneyland while he was busy with meetings and shoots, but Harry wishes he hadn’t. The gift shop alone was so busy that he’d taken one look at the queue and decided it wasn’t worth it. All the lines, in fact, are ridiculously long, and children scream all around him. They’ve yet to go on a single ride, and they’ve only seen Dale, but _Chip n Dale_ is obviously a bit before Libby’s time.

 

They’d had to wait ten minutes for Libby to get an ice-cream, but the heat left most of it dripping down Libby’s fingers and eventually onto the floor. Now, as they stand in line meet one of the princesses – God knows which one – Libby looks moments away from a tantrum, sticky and sweaty and hungry.

 

A bead of sweat rolls down Harry’s back as his phone vibrates in his pocket. _how’s it going??_

 

Harry sighs at the message from Louis, looking down at the little girl and seeing a frown to match Grumpy’s. He takes a quick picture of the line, then a discreet shot of Libby, and sends them to Louis without any accompanying message.

 

Louis doesn’t reply for a few minutes, long enough for the line to move forward a few centimetres.

 

_Go to the info desk_

 

Harry’s eyebrows furrow at Louis’ message. He sends back _????_

 

_Just do it_

 

He’s too hot and too close to reaching the end of his stick to even think of a pun, so just picks Libby up and exits the queue without explanation. It’s a true sign of their exhaustion that Libby doesn’t even question him and rather just rests her sweaty forehead against his cheek.

 

Walking into the info office is like walking into heaven, the air-con sending a shiver down his spine. He approaches the bored looking woman in a company t-shirt, resting his hand on the desk.

 

‘Hi, sorry, I was told to, err, come here?’

 

She stares at him blankly for a second, before smiling. ‘By?’

 

‘By, um, Louis. Tomlinson, that is. Louis Tomlinson.’

 

She nods and lifts the flap bit of the desk. ‘Come through.’

 

Money really can buy anything, it would appear. They’re escorted first back to the gift shop, where they’re taken straight to the back room.

 

‘Who do you want to be today, princess?’ The woman asks Libby in heavily accented English.

 

‘Which character,’ Harry clarifies at Libby’s puzzled expression. Libby thinks long and hard and looks around the shop with two fingers tucked inside her mouth. She eventually points at a white dress, the wedding dress from the end of _Cinderella_ that matches her Wedding Day doll.

 

She’s taken to the first woman with an open seat and Harry feels momentarily bad for jumping the queue, but Libby’s face absolutely lights up the second the woman starts brushing her hair.

 

Harry stands aside as her hair is done in a neat plait, then twisted into a perfect bun and held in place with sparkly clips. Libby closes her eyes willingly when the woman starts painting her face, drawing blue and gold swirls around her eyes and on her cheeks.

 

A small slide-in tiara is placed on the top of her head to complete the look, and Harry is happy that Libby’s happy, but also heartbroken because he thinks his Jane dress will be taking a backseat from now on.

 

 

 

 

Louis is back at the hotel by the time they get back, but he’s dressed up and looking dapper and Harry almost groans. The day turned around completely after Louis’ immoral intervention. Harry feels dead on his feet after he and Libby got to experience everything they could. They couldn’t do a full run of all the rides because Libby is only 6, but what they did do was enough to drain Harry completely.

 

Libby, on the other hand, is spirited enough to rival the Energiser Bunny. She hurtles towards Louis and jumps, trusting that he’ll catch her. He thumbs at her faded face paint and admires her dress while Harry sits down on the loveseat and decides he’s too young to want to massage his feet the second he gets home.

 

He internalises his exhaustion and plasters on a smile when Louis reveals his grandest surprise: tickets to go and watch _The Nutcracker_.

 

Being the only one who still needs to get ready (because Libby wants to wear her new dress) Louis and Libby put the television onto French cartoons while Libby dives into a dramatic retelling of the events of their day out.

 

Harry’s special suit is hanging inside the closet. He still hasn’t tried it on, or even removed the tags, because he’s been flirting with the idea of returning it. When he puts it on, somehow it seems to fit him even better than when Louis bought it.

 

He combs through his hair with his fingers and smacks his cheeks a few times to try and wake himself up, slipping into his black dress shoes and walking back into the sitting room.

 

‘And um, and, there was a,’ he hears Libby say, rubbing her nose against the back of her hand, ‘There was a big cow. And, um, the people all started crying.’

 

‘Crying?’ Louis repeats, engrossed with her story.

 

‘Because the cow was angry about th-the burgers because he um, didn’t want to be a burger. But I was fine because he was– I scared him because he knew I was a fairy, and he… he didn’t want me to shrink and go into his body and so, um, I was fine.’

 

Libby finishes her story and looks down at her dress. Louis looks up and sees Harry in the doorway. ‘And what about Harry? Was Harry fine?’

 

‘No,’ Libby says, shaking her head, ‘no the cow thought that Harry was, um, grass. So he ate him.’

 

‘That’s not nice!’ Harry exclaims. Libby giggles and starts fiddling with her dress again.

 

They have dinner in a posh restaurant before the ballet and Louis encourages Libby to try and speak to him in French. Harry sips at his water nervously and hopes Louis won’t question why Libby just lists fruits and numbers when he asks her anything. Harry takes a photo of Libby eating dessert with chocolate sauce all over her face for his Instagram.

 

‘Can I keep some?’ Libby asks him earnestly, gesturing to the bit of ice-cream she doesn’t manage to eat. ‘Can I keep it for later so that I won’t be hungry?’

 

‘But it will melt, won’t it?’ Libby shakes her head at Harry, looking over at Louis as he pays the bill.

 

‘No, it won’t because it’s quite, it’s quite cold so it won’t melt if you put it in your pockets.’

 

There are paparazzi waiting outside. Harry’s vaguely familiar with paparazzi from his years with Nick, and he’s even caught glimpses of the back of his head in the society pages, but what he experienced with Nick is nothing like what awaits outside the restaurant.

 

Louis walks out first, smiling a bit before putting his head down and pushing through to the waiting car. Harry and Libby wait a while before following him in the hopes that they’ll leave, but the crowd of paparazzi has hardly thinned out and he has to keep Libby shielded from view with his body. He’s shouted at in brusque French, and he’s jostled about as he’s blinded with flashes, but he blocks it out until he and Libby are safely in the car.

 

Harry’s eyelids grow heavy as soon as he sits down in the soft velvet seat in the opera house, but he fights it as the lights dim and the orchestra starts playing The Nutcracker Overture. Libby is enthralled, and her expressions almost outshine the beauty of the performance.

 

Harry makes it to the intermission, but despite snacking on a handful of nuts from the bar, he falls asleep minutes into the second half. He wakes with a start at the end when the audience erupts in applause. He feels groggy as they climb into the car, and as soon as they start driving back to the hotel, both he and Libby are fast asleep.

 

Louis shakes him awake gently when the car stops. Louis carries a still sleeping Libby and guides Harry with a hand on his lower back, going up to their room. Once inside, Harry feels a bit more awake and he slips off his jacket and folds it neatly over the back of the armchair. Louis takes Libby through to the room so Harry strolls out onto the balcony again, leaning against the railing and drinking in the breath-taking view.

 

‘You tired?’ Louis asks from behind him.

 

He’s exhausted actually, but he shakes his head and turns around, leaning back against the railing. ‘Not at all.’

 

‘Fancy a drink?’

 

Harry should say no because it’s asking for trouble, but he shrugs. ‘Why not?’

 

He turns back to watch the city while Louis calls room service, ordering a bottle of wine and a cheese board.

 

Louis brings the wine and cheese out to the cast-iron table set, wordlessly inviting Harry to join him. Louis pours him a glass of wine but doesn’t say anything, so Harry doesn’t either. It’s a long stretch of silence and Harry very nearly falls asleep, except:

 

‘I’m sorry,’ Louis tells him gently, ‘I just–‘

 

Louis trails off and Harry recognises he’s probably having trouble. ‘I’ve had a crush on you since I was ten.’

 

Louis lets out a surprised bubble of laughter. ‘Really?’

 

It's comfortable after that, and Harry finds himself relaxing. Louis has to help him into bed because he's so exhausted by the end of the night, and it may just be sleep deprivation, but Harry's sure that Louis may have kissed him softly.

 

 

 

 

Going back home after a trip to Paris is a great let down. Zayn gets sick of listening to him gush and sends him off to Nick. Nick is more willing to listen to Harry, but he cuts him off as he's describing the queues at Disneyland.

 

‘I think we should end things.’

 

Harry's jaw drops and he stares at Nick. 'What?'

 

'I still love you, H, but I just think we should just stop for a while.'

 

'But I don't want to stop for a while! Where is this coming from?'

 

Nick doesn't even acknowledge that he's said anything and takes Harry's hands. 'It's for the best, babes.'

 

Harry can't even argue, trying to change Nick's mind until he has to leave to go on a date and tells Harry he can see himself out.

 

 

 

 

Coming back to work on Monday is like being pulled out of a beautiful dream, back into reality. His weekend felt like hell, but there was still the memory of last week that carried him through.

 

Harry decides his sun salutations won't be enough, so he puts on his running kit and goes down to the kitchen.

 

'Can I interest you in a jog?' Louis looks up from his phone, down at Harry's outfit, and at the at his cereal. 'It will be fun.'

 

It takes a bit of eyelash batting, but Louis' downstairs and dressed within five minutes. 'I just want you to know that if it weren't for this fucking film, I would still be sleeping right now.'

 

'Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy.'

 

'Early bird gets the worm, and all that.'

 

Harry grins. 'Exactly.'

 

Louis stares at him, before pressing his index finger to his dimple.

 

They walk side by side down the driveway until they reach the gate, but as soon as they're on the pavement, they set off running, falling into step alongside one another.

 

Harry keeps going past the suffocating exhaustion, until he hits the runner's high and he's propelling himself a few meters ahead of Louis. Louis, not one to be beaten, speeds up to match his pace, until he's surpassing him.

 

Harry bites back a grin and sprints ahead, his muscles screaming and lungs burning as they keep up the race until they're both blitzing along the trail.

 

Louis is the first to give up, shouting to Harry loud enough that he hears it through his earphones. He slows to a halt, bending in half to rest his hands on his knees as he sucks in air. Louis' wheezing, standing with his hands on his hips as he takes big gulps of air. Harry looks up at him with a tired grin, one which Louis reciprocates.

 

Harry sits down on a scraggly bit of rock, pulling out his second earphone after he pauses his music. Louis sits down beside him, knocking his knee against Harry's as he leans back. He's glistening with sweat, the blue of his shirt gone navy.

 

'That was intense.'

 

'Please, that was nothing.' He's lying. He feels halfway to death.

 

Louis gives him a sideways glance. 'S'that right?'

 

'I've got the stamina of a stallion.' Louis wiggles his eyebrows. Harry shoves him so that he nearly slips off his rock. Louis shoves him back lightly before he sighs, spreading his legs wider so that he thigh presses against Harry's, and their fingers brush on the rock.

 

'You ever try the whole tantric sex thing? Put that stamina to use?'

 

Harry's mouth is suddenly very dry. He looks over at Louis to see whether or not he's joking. 'There's nothing I love more than marathon sex, but sometimes it's a bit tricky. Well, often it's a bit tricky.'

 

Their thighs are completely lined up. 'Why's that?'

 

'My stamina pretty much goes to shit when I get fucked, can hardly last a minute.'

 

Their shoulders touch. Louis stares at him; Louis pulls away. 'Too much information, H. Race you back?'

 

Harry's off his game the entire jog back. He leaves his earphones out so that he can listen to the beat of his trainers against the pavement as he strides in tandem with Louis. He's withdrawing into his mind before he can help it, forced back into sectioned off zone of uncertainty in his mind. He doesn't like not knowing where he stands, what's going on. Louis makes him feel stupid, like he's just a child trying to figure out what Louis wants but he won't tell him.

 

 

He's worked himself into a childish, petulant mood by the time they get back.

 

'What's wrong?'

 

'Nothing.'

 

Harry slams the glass down on the worktop, harder than necessary. 'Don't take it out on the glass, it didn't do anything to you.'

 

Harry spins around. He feels mad with adrenaline and endorphins. 'Do you want me?'

 

Ruby comes skittering in, charging for Harry before she's distracted by her food bowl. Harry pulls Louis' attention back to him by grabbing his arm and squeezing. 'I swear to God Louis, you've got me out of my fucking mind. Do you want me or not?'

 

He feels like a child trying to tell off an adult. It's like he's in the wrong, like he's being silly. He feels wrong and silly, but more petrified than anything, putting himself out there so blatantly.

 

'Harry, I'm not-'

 

'Good God Louis, please don't say it again. Is that really all I am to you? Is my gender the only thing you see me as?'

 

He holds his glass up to his forehead as he takes a steadying breath. 'Crap I'm sorry, I can't force you to like me. It's just that,' he looks down at the floor, where waters dripping from the fridge, 'I feel drawn to you. I can't even describe it, but it feels like I'm meant to be with you and it's fucking terrifying.'

 

He hears his voice in his ears, and it doesn't sound like his own. He himself feels shocked at his own words. He lowers his glass and decides to be brave, looking Louis dead in the eye. 'It's fucking terrifying admitting to myself that I want to be with someone, while knowing that it can never happen because I've got a dick.'

 

He's panting, sweating. He looks at Louis and Louis looks back. He licks his lower lip. Louis lunges at him. He gets him under the thighs, holding him up against the wall. The wall is cool against his back, sends a chill down his spine. Harry wraps his legs around his waist, and Louis holds him up between his chest and the brick. His hands are free to grab at him, one hand yanking out his bun to pull at his hair while the other clings to his arse.

 

He pulls Harry to him, mouth first, with his hand in his hair. Harry feels burnt when he goes straight in with his tongue, licking into his mouth and tasting him with none of the customary uncertainty or hesitance.

 

Harry wraps his arms around his neck. He's still got his glass clutched in his hand. Water pours down the line of Louis' back when he wraps his arms around his neck, landing on the floor with a splash.

 

Louis adjusts his hold on him, presses even tighter, so that Harry can feel the heat of his cock through his running shorts pressed against his arse. He salivates, thinking about how easily Louis could tear through his running shorts, stuff him full of his cock, breed him silly against the refrigerator.

 

He bites into Louis' lip and tries to grind down against him. Louis bucks up, rubbing his groin against the split of Harry's arse. He's so turned on her could cry, his mind a haze from the heat in his blood and the suffocating scent of Louis. Sweat drips down his back.

 

He wants Louis inside him, making him feel it. He wants him to fuck him over the sink, on the dining room table. Smack his arse while he loads the dishwasher. He moans at the thought of it, being split open and feeling the burn.

 

'Louis,' he gasps against his mouth.

 

He jolts at the shock of it. The glass falls from his hand. It shatters on the floor. He's deposited back on his feet before he can even open his eyes, and Louis escapes before he can choke out, 'Wait!'

 

He's left alone with glass shards littered around his feet, crunching under his trainers. He doesn't cry.

 

 

 

 

Louis is missing for the rest of the day and only appears at supper, but it’s a tense affair and he’s gone as soon as he’s tucked Libby into bed. Harry feels lost and confused. He feels too anxious to eat and just pushes his food around his plate while Louis and Libby carry on. He’s starting to wonder if it was all in his head.

 

Harry’s just barely asleep when he’s woken up by the piercing screech of a car horn. Bright light splashes through his windows and he squints, getting out of bed to peer out the window.

 

He’s torn, watching Louis fall out of his car and onto the drive. He hauls himself up and stumbles towards the front door, digging around for his keys. Harry’s not sure where they stand, but he’s not about to let Louis wake up his daughter.

 

He pulls on a pair of pants and a top and goes to help.

 

Louis falls onto his bed heavily after Harry helps him up the stairs, spread out like a snow angel. He looks to already be asleep, so Harry doesn’t make the effort to help him get underdressed.

 

He turns to leave, but, ‘Harry?’

 

He looks back at Louis, now sitting up and squinting at him. ‘Yeah?’

 

‘Come here.’

 

In another situation, Harry might have felt a bit warm from his commanding tone. He approaches the bed and sits down on the edge when Louis pats the space. He waits for him to say something else, but Louis just stares at him for the longest time.

 

He makes to leave again, but Louis catches him by the wrist and keeps him in place. Harry opens his mouth to speak, only to find Louis’ mouth pressed against his own.

 

Louis’ other hand comes up to hold him by the neck as he kisses Harry hard enough that his toes curl and his belly fills with fire. Louis moans into his mouth and Harry realises what he’s doing.

 

He springs back and stares down at Louis with wild eyes. Louis looks confused and sleepy, and Harry can’t look at him anymore. He storms out of his room and makes it to the top of the stairs before turning around and storming back, ready to ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing.

 

Except Louis’ already fast asleep, passed out in the centre of his bed. He still looks like a king.

 

 

 

 

Harry wakes up cross, and Louis is nowhere to be seen. It's only after Libby's asleep that Louis appears in the kitchen, by which time Harry is fuming.

 

Louis doesn't acknowledge him when he enters the room, so Harry goes about making himself tea. The longer Louis ignores him, the more upset he gets, until he eventually slams the cupboard shut. It's not very effective though, because they're no-slam cupboards. Harry huffs. 'I'm pissed with you but these stupid fucking cupboards won't let me express it.' Louis still doesn't acknowledge him, so Harry slams his hand down on the table. 'You could at least tell me what you're thinking!’

 

‘What do you expect me to do Harry!? I’m not like you! I can’t just run around kissing whoever I want, whenever!’

 

‘Apparently you can,’ Harry mutters under his breath, before he decides he’s had enough and makes to leave.

 

Louis grabs his arm and keeps him in place, forcing Harry to look at him. ‘God, you don’t get it do you? I’m terrified, Harry.’

 

Harry shakes his hand off him before folding his arms across his chest, staring him down until he continues. ‘Fucking,’ Louis mutters exasperatedly, and Harry sighs before turning to leave again.

 

 

Louis grabs at him again, but this time Harry grabs at his wrist to try and get him to release. Louis tugs him closer, repositioning his hands so that he’s gripping Harry about the biceps. Harry struggles, shooting daggers at him.

 

‘I’m not like you Harry,’ he says slowly, and Harry stops fighting slightly, ‘I couldn’t just accept it the first time I thought about a boy.’

 

His hold on him slackens and Harry takes the opportunity to shakes his hands off, taking a step backwards to put some space between them. Louis looks hurt. Good.

 

‘You scare me, because it feels wrong how much I want to be with you.’ Harry stares down at the floor as Louis takes a step backward and runs his fingers through his hair, gritting his teeth. He sits down heavily on the edge of the sofa, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. Harry could leave, but instead he sits down opposite from him.

 

‘It makes me hate myself, how much I want you,’ Louis says eventually, more to the carpet than Harry. ‘God, say something Harry!’

 

Harry glares at him when he snaps, looking back down at the floor as he tries to gather his thoughts. This doesn’t satisfy Louis, judging by how he slumps back and lets out a snide laugh. ‘God, I’m in the middle of a sexuality crisis here and you won’t even speak to me.’

 

‘I don’t want to be your experiment.’ Harry says finally, causing Louis to look at him.

 

‘You won’t be, you _aren’t_ ,’

 

‘You don’t know that!’ Harry lowers his voice again. ‘You’re scared because you’ve convinced yourself that there’s something wrong with being who you are, and I’m glad I’ve helped you, but,’ he closes his eyes, shaking his head in an attempt to help form his thoughts into words, ‘I’m not ready to be with you if there’s a chance that you’ll realise I’m not what you want.’

 

‘But you are what I want Harry! Haven’t you been listening? I want you so much, but I don’t know how!’

 

Harry puts his head in his hands. ‘I want to be with you so much that it hurts Harry. It hurts because I don’t know what to do with myself, and I feel horrible inside because I can’t stop thinking about you.’

 

It’s then that Harry realises he’s terrified too. Louis isn’t a pipedream anymore, not a chance of an easy fling like Nick. Louis’ serious, and that terrifies him.

 

He clears his throat. ‘I think,’ he looks up to meet Louis’ eyes, ‘I need some time to think.’

 

Louis deflates, but nods in agreement.

 

 

 

 

Harry explains his situation to Zayn as soon as he gets home, but Zayn doesn't seem to agree with him in the slightest.

 

‘Don’t do this, Harry.’

 

‘Do what?’

 

Zayn sighs. ‘The man you spent half your life dreaming of just offered himself to you on a plate. Why are you home with me?’

 

‘It’s not that simple Zayn.’

 

‘Yes it is! This man wants to be with you, he just needs some help. How is that any different to Nick?’

 

‘It’s plenty different! Nick didn’t want me to help him overcome his prejudices.’

 

‘Okay, so maybe you’ll have to go a little bit slower with him, but other than that, you have a man who wants to be with you. How is it different?’

 

'Where is this coming from?' Harry asks, frowning at Zayn he gets up and stalks off to his bedroom.

 

'I just,' Zayn sighs when Harry follows him, 'I don't want you to do to Louis what you did to me.'

 

‘This is different, Zayn!’

 

Zayn looks him dead in the eye. ‘Louis is putting himself out there and you're running away. How is it different?’ Harry looks away.

 

‘I was seventeen! What did you expect me to do when you _proposed_!’

 

Zayn looks at him then, finally. His eyes are red. It feels like he’s in a corset that has been laced up too tight. Zayn’s lower lip wobbles. ‘You fucking left to conquer the world, and you left me with a fucking broken heart.’

 

Zayn shakes his head. Harry’s still breathing heavy, his eyes stinging. His hands are shaking, but Zayn takes his hand in his and links their fingers.

 

‘I just want you to be happy, H.’ His voice is low and gentle. He brushes his thumb over his knuckles. ‘I know I couldn’t do it, but maybe Louis can. You shouldn’t let your own insecurities stop you from putting yourself out there.’

 

Harry squeezes Zayn’s hand, pressing closer to him, before pulling him into a hug. Zayn strokes down his back like his mum used to do to calm them when they would fight. Zayn kisses his temple and Harry snuggles in closer, breathing in his scent.

 

‘I’m so sorry Zayn,’ he confesses into his shoulder.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

‘I’ve thought about it.’ Good start, quick and to the point. Louis’ shoulders tense, but he hums and waits for Harry to continue. ‘I think that– will you please look at me? This is important.’

 

Louis turns to face him and folds his arms over his chest as protection. He’s got dark bags under his eyes. It’s bad, but Harry starts to smile at the fact that Louis takes this seriously. Well, seriously enough to lose sleep over it.

 

‘I think I would love to try with you.’ He says it in one easy breath, having practised it the entire drive over.

 

Louis’ defensive façade dissolves into one of pure, unadulterated happiness, and in seconds they’re drawn together, wrapped in a tight hug in the middle of the kitchen. Harry twists his fingers in the long hair at the nape of Louis’ neck as Louis slides his hands down his sides.

 

When they finally part, it’s only for a few seconds, because then Harry’s tilting his chin down and Louis’ kissing him, his fingers digging into his waist. Harry wants to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him some more, then take him up to his bedroom so that they can both get naked and climb into bed, but.

 

He has to remind himself that Louis’ new to this, and that the needs to go slow so that he doesn’t rush him into anything.

 

He feels like he’s looking at the world in a new light, and it feels like everything is so much clearer now. Everything seems so much simpler now that he and Louis have acknowledged their feelings, and Harry realises just how much he likes him.

 

Because he doesn’t have anywhere he needs to be, Louis comes along to Libby’s ballet practice and Libby can hardly focus on her class. She keeps looking over at them and waves whenever she thinks Carol isn’t looking. Louis isn’t very inconspicuous, and keeps pulling faces that make her giggle. She does, however, make sure to show off whenever she dances, pinching her face up and making sure that she does everything perfectly to make her daddy proud.

 

They go out for breakfast after swimming, sitting at a table out on the pavement, so that sun splashes across the portion of table not protected by the outside-umbrella. They do get a few stares, even Harry. After he was photographed in Paris, people have started to recognise him.

 

Louis attends to business emails while Harry moves his chair closer to Libby’s and goes over the menu with her, reading it slowly and running his finger over the words as he says them. Libby asks him what a compote is a total three times.

 

 

 

 

El gets a taxi back from the airport, so that when the three of them get home, she’s sat at the kitchen counter.

 

‘Mummy!’ Libby shrieks, running as fast as her little legs will carry her and jumping into Eleanor’s waiting arms. She digs her fingers into her and holds tight, and Harry wouldn’t be surprised if she's crying a bit.

 

Once she’s calmed down, he and Louis share a look and Harry asks Libby if she wants to go and practise so that Louis and Eleanor can talk privately. Louis’ going to talk to Eleanor about them, and Harry feels very nervous as he goes through Libby’s dance with her.

 

She’s been practising non-stop, to the extent that Harry himself knows the 6 minute routine off by heart. He runs through it in the garden with her, dancing as her partner the first time and recording her the second time when she does it perfectly.

 

 

 

 

Louis makes supper while Libby and Harry continue to practice her ballet routine in the study, giggling through it until they’re called for supper. Eleanor’s gone out for dinner, so it’s just the three of them sitting around the dining room table. Louis heads off to shower while Harry puts Libby to bed, and Harry expects that to be the last he sees of him for the day, but an hour later he’s knocking on Harry’s door.

 

Harry climbs out of bed, shifting Ruby off his lap (because she’s decided that he’s her favourite night-time companion) to get up and open the door.

 

Louis looks scared and sheepish. ‘Do you want to come in?’ Harry offers.

 

Louis nods and follows him to his bed, sitting down gingerly on the edge of his mattress. Harry sits down cross-legged and waits for Louis to say something.

 

Louis doesn’t say anything, but he does eventually climb onto Harry’s bed fully, kneeing closer to Harry until he’s sitting in front of him. Harry still doesn’t do anything, and just lets Louis go at whatever pace he’s comfortable with.

 

Louis’ hands are shaking when he reaches for him, cupping Harry’s jaw and pulling him in for a gentle kiss. Their kiss this morning was less chaste, but Harry knows that he can’t always expect the same outcome from certain actions. So even though Louis was fine this morning, he isn’t now, and he pulls away from Harry and turns away from him. He clenches his hands into fists and squeezes his eyes shut.

 

'I don't know what's wrong with me. I think about you and I'm fine, but as soon as I really touch you, and think about what I'm doing, I'm stuck.’ He says through gritted teeth, before he lets his fingers uncurl and lets out a shaky breath. ‘It's like a default setting.'

 

Harry leans back against al his pillows, Ruby snuggling into his side the second he does. He rests his hand on Louis’ shoulder lightly as an invitation. 'Explain it to me.'

 

Louis sighs and moves around so that he can lean back against Harry’s chest, letting Harry wrap his arms around him and nuzzle the back of his neck.

 

'I want to kiss you, and will kiss you, but as soon as I think about what I'm doing, I'm sent back to panic mode.'

 

'Do you know why?'

 

Louis swallows thickly, taking Harry’s hand by the wrist and starting to play with his fingers. 'Part of me feels like I'm doing something wrong. All my life I've convinced myself to only like a certain thing,’ he sniffles, ‘and now it's hard to unlearn it.'

 

Harry doesn’t get it, but he doesn’t want to Louis to know that, so he nods. Louis chuckles. 'You don’t get it, do you? Okay, well imagine if all your life you were never allowed to eat-'

 

'Chocolate,' Harry supplies, welcoming it when Louis presses a soft kiss to his knuckles.

 

'All your life you were never allowed to eat chocolate. It was wrong. Your friends all said so, and it was something you didn't even think about. Chocolate was wrong, and you shouldn't eat it.'

 

Louis closes his eyes, tracing one hand down Harry’s thigh as it brackets his hips.

 

'Then one day, you taste chocolate, and it’s the greatest thing you’ve ever had. You've always known how bad chocolate was, but nothing makes sense anymore because it's the sweetest thing you've ever tasted, and you never want to taste anything else. So when you cave and taste it again, there will still always be a part of your brain telling you to stop.'

 

Harry brushes his thumb over his cheek. 'I'm sorry. Was it family?'

 

Louis shakes his head. ‘I don’t think it was anything specific really, just a lot of small things. You know how boys are,’ Louis sighs, drawing spirals on Harry’s knee with his finger, ‘do anything vaguely different and you’re called a faggot. I think a lot of it was also seeing how people treated gay people. He’s a normal guy one day, but as soon as he comes out, he’s a cocksucking fairy who loves shopping, and I,’

 

Louis exhales and Harry gives him an encouraging squeeze. ‘I didn’t want to be that. I didn’t want to be boxed in just because I’d wank to thoughts of boys and girls. I wanted to be someone special, not a punchline.’

 

Harry kisses him below his ear, using his thumb to wipe the tears from Louis’ cheeks. He senses that Louis doesn’t want to talk anymore, so he wraps his legs around him to hold him tight when he starts speaking.

 

‘You are so strong and so special, Louis. It takes a lot to fight that sort of brainwashing, but I’ll always be here when you need me. Okay? I’ll be fine even if you can’t kiss me, or touch me. Just knowing that you feel the same is enough for me.’

 

Louis nods, holding onto Harry’s arms and going quiet. He’s been so honest with him, and all of a sudden, Harry feels a suffocating need to tell him everything.

 

‘I didn’t drop out of law school,’ Harry blurts out, ‘I was asked to leave because I was sleeping with a professor.’

 

Louis sits up and wriggles around so that he can face Harry. Louis does the same for Harry as Harry did for him, showing his support by listening as Harry finally tells someone the full truth.

 

 

 

 

It was a busy Friday night while Harry was still working as a waiter. The lone suit sitting in his section was hardly on Harry’s radar, and it must have been near an hour before he’d gone over, pasting on his Colgate grin as he’d asked, ‘Can I get you anything to drink?’

 

The man looked unbothered about having to wait, setting his phone face down on his table before he’d looked up and near knocked the wind out of Harry’s lungs.

 

‘I’ll have a whiskey straight, and a sirloin steak. Rare.’

 

He picked his phone up again as indication for Harry to leave again. He’d faltered, staring at the walking John Lewis ad who dared to ignore him, before ensuring he’d gotten his meal in record time. Like Nick, the man had asked for his number by the end of his meal, but unlike with Nick, Harry had given it over without struggle.

 

Ben was a professor at Harry’s uni, and he had a laugh that made Harry’s insides melt. He called Harry the next morning, took him out for dinner that evening, and fucked him all night.

 

He didn’t tell anyone at first, because it felt like a naughty secret, sneaking around at all hours of the day. Eventually, he told Nick, because despite their casual arrangement, he felt he deserved to know. Nick didn’t ask questions, and it was good for months. Things were good, he was surviving university, and he was having enough sex to keep him satisfied.

 

It nearly ended his friendship with Zayn when it became too hard to come up with explanations and he realised he had to tell him. Zayn said it felt like Harry was spitting in his face, and that it was painful enough that Harry fucked off to find himself and then jumped into bed with Nick the second he got back. Harry stayed with Ben for three weeks before Zayn was willing to speak to him.

 

It was perfect, and Harry was sure he was in love. It didn’t seem that bad when they were found out at the time. It didn’t matter Ben was a professor for a different faculty, their relationship was against the code of conduct, and they were faced with the decision of who should be the martyr: Ben or Harry?

 

Ben promised he would sort him out, and get him in anywhere he wanted. Ben said he would protect him, so Harry took the fall and was asked to leave so that Ben could keep his reputation.

 

It didn’t feel that tragic, because Ben would look after him. It would be fine.

 

But then he found out that Ben was married, and he realised that Ben wouldn’t look after him. Ben was just using him.

 

 

 

 

He’s due back in Paris for the first week of filming, which is a bit annoying.

 

After Harry had told him about Ben, Louis sat with him while he cried until Harry’s tears stopped and Louis kissed Harry slowly.

 

They kissed for over an hour, caught up in each other. Harry felt like a child with a crush. Their kisses were almost shy, and it was nice, just kissing without it going anywhere further.

 

The only problem is that now Harry’s sure his feelings for Louis have intensified tenfold, and he feels dizzy with it. His feelings have hit him so hard and so fast that he doesn’t even know what to do with himself.

 

Louis hadn’t been ready for Harry to kiss him when he’d gone up to his room to help him pack, but it was fine, and Harry just sat in the middle of his bed and watched him fold clothes with a small smile.

 

‘Wish you could come with me,’ Louis sighs, ‘Take you on a proper date. Do you think you could fit in my suitcase?’

 

‘You’re ridiculous,’ Harry huffs, but his cheeks are flushed a soft pink as he flicks his tongue out against his lower lip.

 

‘Would work though,’ Louis mutters, almost absently as he watches Harry.

 

 

 

 

He dips lower until just his eyes are above the water, waiting for Libby to copy. She splutters a bit but is eager to try again.

 

She eventually manages to go under with her nose blocked, but then unblocks when she swims to the other side of the pool.

 

When Harry breaks the surface, he coughs out water and feels the uncomfortable sting of water up the nose. He’s so busy sniffing that he nearly misses the fact that Libby’s still going, swimming a butchered version of butterfly.

 

 

 

 

Ruby snores against his neck where she's tucked under his arm while he reads, finally calmed down enough to sleep.

 

There's a knock at his door and he groans when Ruby wakes up and releases a tiny bark. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and decides to pick Ruby up, not trusting her to not follow him down the stairs.

 

Eleanor stands outside, eyes honing in on where Ruby wriggles in his arms and tries to launch herself off his chest.

 

'I was wondering where she'd run off to,' She scratches her chest and coos at the wiggly puppy. 'But I was coming to see if I could interest you in a drink.'

 

Harry should reject her offer because if anything he's learnt that drinking with employers is not wise. But then she flashes him her kind smile, friendly and inviting, and Harry can't resist.

 

He feels nervous as she pours him a glass of wine because he’s pretty sure that she’s going to talk to him about his relationship with Louis.

 

But she doesn’t, at least not right away, and Harry’s nerves melt away the more he drinks and the more relaxed he feels. Speaking to Eleanor is like speaking to an old friend. She reminds him of Gemma almost, and she makes him laugh hard enough that he worries about waking Libby.

 

Harry’s guard is down, and he’s not thinking things through when Eleanor mentions something about a new ad campaign in Dubai.

 

‘Libby loves you, and I’m sorry if I’m crossing the line, but she misses you.’ He half-slurs.

 

He watches as Eleanor retracts like a sea anemone, turning away and staring down at her glass.

 

‘Shit, I’m sorry.’ Harry rushes to apologise, but Eleanor shakes her head before turning to face him.

 

‘Harry, you won’t… you won’t judge me will you? Because I can never be honest with anyone without them judging me and I just-’ she looks away from him and shakes her head, ‘I feel like I have to tell someone what I’m feeling.’

 

‘No.’ Harry blurts, and Eleanor turns sharply to look at him. ‘No, I mean, no I won’t judge you.’

 

Eleanor nods and leans back, bringing her feet up onto her chair and staring off into space. Harry thinks that maybe she’s changed her mind and doesn’t want to talk she’s silent for so long. But eventually she takes a deep breath.

 

‘I had an abortion when I was twenty and the only person who knows is my mum. We were so young, and I knew I couldn’t do it. But it’s what Louis has always wanted. He thought he was ready, but I knew that I wasn’t. I could hardly look after myself, let alone someone else. Louis tried to convince me that we could do it, but I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I told him it was a miscarriage and he was heartbroken, but I was sure it was for the best. I think he’ll always resent me a little, but it was what I had to do.’

 

‘When did you realise that you were ready?’ Harry asks softly.

 

Eleanor looks at her glass pensively. When silence lapses over the room, Harry looks down at his own glass, trying to find The Grimm in the puddle of wine at the bottom. He startles when she speaks again.

 

‘I’m still not sure if I am. I knew that Louis always wanted children, and I always assumed I wanted the same because I couldn’t comprehend living without him, and a future with Louis was a future with children. But sometimes I still wonder what my life would be like if I didn’t have Libby,’

 

Harry’s heart just about breaks when her breathing hitches, and he looks up under his eyelashes in time to catch a tear trail down her cheek like he thought was only possible in movies.

 

‘I love Olivia with all my heart. She’s my entire world, but sometimes I wish I never became a mother. It sounds horrible, but some days I just can’t stand being a mum.’ She properly starts crying then, putting her glass down and holding her face in her hands as her shoulders start to shake.

 

Harry flounders, setting his own glass down before he moves closer to her and rubs a hand down her back. Harry can almost feel the moment that she realises that she’s sitting on her patio with her daughter’s nanny and crying about motherhood when she tenses and goes quiet. He doesn’t want her to feel ashamed or trapped, so he ignores the tight feeling in his chest and tries to find the appropriate words to say.

 

‘Maybe it’s hard sometimes, but you’re doing your best. All that matters is that you love her, and that you do have days where you love being a mum.’ Eleanor sniffles, letting her hands fall from her face as she leans into Harry’s side slightly. ‘I think it’s normal to miss being your own person and getting to put yourself first, but that doesn’t make you a bad mother. Libby loves you, and I know you love her. You’re allowed to have times when you regret everything, as long as you’re there for Libby at the end of the day.’

 

Eleanor turns his face into his shoulder, shaking slightly as her tears soak the fabric of his t-shirt. Harry just sits with her, soothing her as he strokes up and down her arm.

 

It could be minutes or hours before Eleanor calms, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes and taking a deep breath.

 

‘I know that Louis and I were over long before I had Libby. At the time, it felt like I was going to lose the love of my life because I couldn’t give him what he wanted, so I think I hoped that having a child would help bring us together. Libby kept up together for a while, but I realised that Louis and I were trying to force ourselves into something.’ She looks at him then, looking both the least composed and the most beautiful he’s ever seen her. ‘What I’m trying to say is that he couldn’t make me happy, and I couldn’t make him happy, and it’s alright if you can.’

 

Harry flushes and goes to protest, but Eleanor offers him a genuine smile, so that her red-rimmed eyes crinkle. ‘Let’s go inside, it’s getting cold.’

 

 

 

 

There seems to be a trend among the Calder-Tomlinsons. Each time one of them has cried in front of him, an instant bond has formed.

 

Something changes overnight, and by the next morning, Harry feels like he and Eleanor are best friends.

 

The second night without Louis finds the three of them at the dining room table eating pizza and playing Monopoly.

 

‘I’m the dog,’ Libby tells them, picking up the dog totem and trying to balance it on top of Ruby’s head. She shakes it off and wriggles around in Libby’s grip, before giving up and going pliant in her arms. Harry passes the dog totem back to Libby.

 

After the all get inevitably bored with Monopoly, they move to Eleanor’s room. The three of them hop onto Eleanor’s bed with Ruby, snuggling down to watch a movie.

 

Eleanor sits on the bed behind him and pulls him back by his shoulders. She finger-combs through his hair as he does the same to Libby, copying his motions and sectioning up his hair. She gathers his hair into two plaits as he French plaits Libby’s hair.

 

Harry plaits Eleanor’s hair once he’s done with Libby’s, and then he raises his phone to take a picture of the two of them with their matching hairstyles.

 

Eleanor sticks her tongue out, and Libby is quick to copy. They pull the same face, Libby a carbon copy of her mum. They break pose as soon as he lowers his phone, but he does take a few more sneaky pictures when El starts tickling Libby, getting her on her back and shrieking with laughter.

 

‘I feel very left out,’ Harry pouts, staring down pointedly at his own pyjamas after swiping through the photos and realising that he’s the only one without monogrammed silk pyjamas.

 

‘I’ll get you some for Christmas,’ Eleanor assures him. Harry will hold her to that; he’d quite like a pair of matching pyjamas.

 

They’re made to sit through the duration of _Barbie Swan Lake_ , but they don’t stop it when Libby falls asleep.

 

‘I actually think the earlier movies were better,’ Harry says, watching the screen.

 

‘But their animation is just so crap.’ She focuses again and groans, ‘God, her voice is horrid! She sounds like Fran Drescher.’

 

‘It’s actually Janice, from _Friends_.’

 

‘Know it all.’ Eleanor scoffs. She picks up Harry’s phone from where it’s resting on the bed. ‘What’s your password? I want to see the pictures.’

 

Harry types in his password and opens his Libby folder for her, handing his phone to Eleanor so that he can finish watching the movie.

 

‘These are really great, H. I know quite a few people who you can talk to if you’d be interested.’

 

Harry looks away from the screen once he processes what she just said. ‘That would be amazing!’

 

Eleanor beams at him.

 

 

 

 

'Just hold it a bit longer.' Eleanor groans, repositioning her hand and holding her pose.

 

Libby keeps trying to get Ruby to stretch so that she’ll match Eleanor’s downward-dog position, but so far it’s just been ten minutes of Ruby licking Eleanor’s face.

 

'What are you doing?'

 

Harry looks over to where Louis' standing by the gate, keys in his hand as he pushes his sunglasses up onto his head. His heart swoops and he can’t stop himself from grinning.

 

Libby runs over to him and Eleanor stands up, looking just as shocked as Harry feels. ‘You’re home so soon!’

 

Louis shrugs and looks over to meet Harry’s eye.

 

Harry kisses him as soon as he gets him alone, and Louis slips a ring onto Harry's finger, the finger which he used to wear Ben's ring on. 'I noticed that your ring was missing,' he explains.

 

Harry wraps his arms around him and kisses him again, making up for the days lost. 

 

 

 

Everything’s a bit chaotic. Carol looks the closest to human that he’s ever seen her, constantly running her palm over her slicked back hair and biting her nails as she makes the girls run through their piece over and over again.

 

It’s practically perfect, and Harry finds himself running through it mentally as they dance.

 

Niall and Savannah tag along and ride in his car to swimming, and Niall spends the drive making up silly songs that make Libby and Savannah howl with laughter from the back. By the time they reach the bubble, they’re all singing, ‘I live for you, I long for you, Olivia!’ along with him at the top of their lungs.

 

Harry feels like he’s having the definition of a perfect day, and he can’t begin to imagine how it could get better, but then he watches Libby swimming and he’s filled with pride. He slaps Niall’s arm before he stands and his expression turns to one of glee. ‘She’s doing it! She’s doing butterfly!’

 

He rushes to get out his phone and record her swimming another width, only stopping once she’s clinging to the pool’s edge and coughing lightly. She’s grinning, though, when she looks for Harry on the stands through the blue-tint of her goggles. Harry lifts two thumbs up, hardly able to contain his excitement.

 

Her teacher starts addressing her class, which Harry takes as his cue to sit again. He sends the video to both Eleanor and Louis.

 

His day only manages to improve, becoming a contender for the best day of his life when he and Louis get some alone time after Libby’s asleep.

 

He's showing him his photos of Libby, blushing when Louis keeps complimenting his photos. Harry feels shy when he says, ‘Yeah I -’ Louis smiles at him encouragingly, ‘I think I want to pursue it as a possible career.’

 

‘That’s great, baby!’

 

Harry preens. ‘I was also thinking about maybe getting a degree in teaching. For like, little children. Like Libby.’

 

Louis squeezes his hand and smacks a kiss to his dimple, nuzzling his cheek after. It feels a lot more concrete now that he’s said it aloud. It feels like he’s finally managing to find a decent footing in his life, like he’s got direction.

 

‘Popstar not an option then?’

 

Harry chuckles. ‘As much as I wish I could do music, I don’t think it’s in the cards for me,’

 

‘Nepotism is always an option,’ he reminds Harry.

 

‘Brilliant. I’m going to be the greatest popstar slash photographer slash primary teacher the world has ever seen.’ He can hardly make it through his sentence without giggling.

 

‘I believe in you.' They go quiet while Louis plays with his hair, until Louis breaks the silence. 'I was wondering if you’d want to go away with me the weekend before I start filming.’ 

 

‘Where to?’

 

Louis wraps his arms around him and nuzzles his neck. ‘I was thinking the beach, somewhere. Get you all golden and beautiful before autumn.’

 

‘I’d love to,’ Harry tells him, kissing him softly. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘Definitely the black,’ Harry argues from his position on Eleanor’s bed.

 

‘She was my wife for four years; I’ve got more authority than you. She should wear the red.’

 

‘She should wear the red if she wants to look like she’s trying too hard,’ Harry argues, kicking his foot out at where Louis’ sat at the top of the bed with his iPad.

 

‘ _She_ is right here,’ Eleanor calls from her closet, ‘And Harry’s right, I’m going for black.’

 

‘You wound me,’ Louis whines, kicking Harry’s thigh when he sticks his tongue out at him.

 

Eleanor slides the doors of her closet open and steps out with two different shoes on. She bends each leg in turn. ‘Which shoe?’

 

‘Right,’ Harry tells her.

 

‘Left.’ Louis says at the same time.

 

‘I’ll go with right. Thanks, H.’

 

Harry beams at her, looking back down at his phone when she goes over to her vanity and starts rolling out her foam curlers.

 

Libby’s off the phone with her granny by the time Eleanor is ready to go, going over to hug her as she rifles through her handbag for her car keys.

 

‘You look like a princess,’ she giggles into the wispy chiffon of her dress, looking up at her mum with wonder in her eyes.

 

Eleanor bats her glittery eyelids and cards her fingers through Libby’s hair. ‘Mummy promises to give you a make-over tomorrow if you promise to go to sleep when you’re told tonight. Would you like that?’ Libby nods enthusiastically, and Eleanor crouches down in front of her to kiss her nose. ‘I love you lots and lots and lots and will see you tomorrow. Be good for daddy and Harry, okay?’

 

Libby nods again, tilting her face up against for Eleanor to kiss her nose again.

 

‘Where’s mummy going?’ Libby asks once she's left.

 

‘She’s going out,’ Louis tells her.

 

‘Why?’

 

Louis gives him a look over her head. Harry shrugs and turns back to the oven so that Louis can talk to his daughter. ‘She’s going on a date, Libbs.’

 

‘What’s a date?’

 

‘It’s when two people who like each other go out to see one another,’ Louis says slowly.

 

Libby picks up her spoon. ‘Why doesn’t she date with you?’

 

‘Because mummy and daddy aren’t married anymore, remember?’

 

Libby thinks for a bit, keeping Louis on edge. ‘Why doesn’t she date with Harry?’

 

Harry snorts from the kitchen. ‘I wish I knew,’ he mutters under his breath. Louis shoots him a look.

 

‘Well Libbs, it’s because I’m actually dating with Harry.’

 

Harry stills when he hears Louis tell her, holding his breath as he waits for his response.

 

‘But Harry’s a boy,’ she tells Louis, almost as if she thinks that Louis might not know that himself.

 

‘I know, darling. He’s a boy but I like him a lot anyway.’

 

 

 

 

Louis grabs a handful of his arse and squeezes, bending him backwards from the force of it. Harry slaps at his chest at the sound of shoes on the stairs, so that they pull apart just before Eleanor and Libby round the corner.

 

'See, there's daddy!' Eleanor exclaims, smiling down at her daughter as she lets go of her hand and propels herself towards Louis.

 

Free of child, she sits down on the stool next to Harry, reaching for a tangerine from the fruit bowl. 

 

'So what are the plans for today?' He realises that his gum is no longer in his mouth.

 

Louis slides a mug in front of Eleanor, and one in front of him, giving him a wink before opening his mouth and lifting his tongue. That explains his missing gum then.

 

Harry gets up and goes to stand by the fridge, glancing over at Libby and Eleanor to make sure they’re not looking. He rearranges the magnets, having to use an upside-down M in place of a W. Once he’s spelled out his message, he taps Louis’ shoulder to get his attention.

 

Louis raises his eyebrows at Harry’s message. _I want to suck u_. He steps away from the island and towards Harry, crowding up close behind to lean over him, and swap out the S for an F. Harry’s eyes widen, and he makes to face him, but Louis’ pressed so close that he just resorts back to the magnets.

 

He reshuffles the letters, twiddling his fingers as he searches for a question mark, only to come up short. He settles for leaving his message as _Really_ and then draws a questions mark with his index finger.

 

Louis responds by brushing his hair aside so that he can kiss the side of his neck softly. The hairs on his arms stands on end.

 

He uses the magnets once more to spell out _My room later_.

 

 

 

 

‘You don’t have to, Lou. There’s no rush.’ It pains him to say it, but there is no way he’s forcing his boyfriend into something before he’s ready, even if it means another cold shower. ‘I don’t want to push you.’

 

He kisses him softly, rolling away from him slightly to put some space between them. Instead of calming, however, Louis closes his eyes and balls his hands up into fists.

 

‘God, Harry. You have no idea how much I want to touch you.’

 

Harry reaches for his hand, uncurling his fist before he can link their fingers together. ‘You’re touching me right now.’

 

Louis does not seem appeased. He pulls Harry back to him, half on top of him. ‘I want to touch you, and I want to make you feel so good, but I just can’t.’

 

Harry uses his hand not linked with Louis’ to cup his jaw, thumbing over his cheekbone. ‘That’s alright. We don’t need to have sex now, or ever.’ It pains him a bit to say it, but as soon as he’s said it, he knows it’s true. He’ll manage somehow. Louis might have to buy him a few new toys every now and then.

 

‘You don’t understand.’ Louis sighs, no fight and all resignation. Harry rolls them until Louis’ lying on his back before he straddles his waist. He thinks he may understand.

 

‘Close your eyes,’ he murmurs, watching as Louis does as he’s told. He takes both his hands in his own and sets them on his waist. He guides his hands up his chest, travelling slowly across his shoulders and back down over his stomach, before he’s resting Louis’ hands on his arse. ‘Pretend I’m a girl.’

 

Louis’ hands freeze, before he draws them away and Harry opens his eyes. ‘I don’t want to pretend you’re a girl, Harry.’

 

It’s then that Harry realises how worked up he’s gotten him, panting and starting to sweat under his arms. He feels so turned on just from having his hands on him. Louis looks down at his crotch, where Harry’s cock is hard and obvious through the grey fabric. His eyes seem to fix on the little spot of darkened grey at Harry’s tip, wet from his arousal. Harry feels himself flush under his harsh scrutiny, and watches as his dick twitches and the dark spot grows larger.

 

Louis rolls them over again, so that Harry’s lying back against the pillows and Louis can skitter to the foot of the bed, so that they aren’t touching. Harry closes his eyes and turns his cheek against the pillow cover because he knows it’s not a rejection, but it hurts, having Louis run away from him.

 

‘Touch yourself.’ Harry’s eyes spring open, landing on where Louis’ kneeling at the foot of the bed and looking just as affected as he feels. Harry raises his eyebrows.

 

‘Are you sure?’

 

Louis nods, settling in his seat. ‘I want to see,’ he gulps, trailing his eyes from Harry’s face down to his covered-cock and back up, ‘I want to see you come.’

 

He tries to find any sort of hesitation on his face, trying to gauge whether or not he’s serious. ‘Christ,’ he mutters under his breath when he doesn’t spot any. He holds eye contact for a moment longer before he feels the need to look away, staring at a spot of duvet as he hooks his thumbs into his waistband and pushes down.

 

He concentrates hard on his chosen spot of bedding as he wraps his hand around himself, unable to stop himself groaning at the first touch. He draws back his foreskin and teases at his wet slit until more precome pearls out. His eyes flutter closed and his mouth falls open after he licks his palm and works over his cock, kicking his underwear off from where it’s bunched around his ankles.

 

It’s so wet, the slick sound of him working himself over the only sound in the room, bar his laboured breathing. He feels embarrassingly close, his toes curling and heels slipping against the duvet as his low groans taper off into high whimpers.

 

‘Look at me.’ Louis’ voice is rough and low and cuts through the haze in Harry’s mind. Harry’s eyes snap open and he’s quick to obey, meeting Louis’ gaze. His eyes are all pupil, just a thin ring of blue outline. Harry’s mouth runs dry and it takes him a moment to realise that the gasping moans are coming from him. He watches as Louis’ eyes run back down to land on his cock, having to stroke himself faster when Louis wets his lips and drops his hand down to his lap, giving himself a firm squeeze where he’s big and hard between his legs. Harry kicks out, his hips lifting off the bed as he struggles to find air for his lungs. He’s so close, watching Louis palm himself, knowing that he’s the reason he’s hard.

 

‘God, Harry,’ Louis groans, sounding like he’s been swallowing gravel. He reaches into his pants then, pulling his cock out and working his fist over himself. He shuffles closer, like he needs to see more, and rests one hand on Harry’s knee.

 

The touch alone makes Harry burn from the inside out, but when he realises that Louis’ trying to encourage his legs wider, so that he can see all of him, Harry loses it.

 

He comes all over his tummy, muffling his shout into the pillow as he’s filled with electricity. He’s overcome with shivers, and he tries to snap his legs closed but Louis stops him, his nails digging into his knee as he keeps his legs open. Harry makes the mistake of looking at him, and the carnal hunger in Louis’ eyes as he alternates between staring at Harry stroking his cock through orgasm and his clenched arsehole sends another wave of euphoria over him.

 

He feels like he comes for ages, deflating against the mattress and bonelessly turning his head to watch Louis as he strips his cock. He’s letting out these low, animalistic groans, interspersed with high gasps, seemingly overwhelmed by the sight in front of him. It makes Harry’s spent dick give an interested twitch.

 

Feeling far too exhausted to go again, Harry decides to help him along. He twitches his thighs wider apart before dragging his middle finger through the mess on his stomach. He watches Louis track the movement of his hand as he reaches past his cock and taint and presses the tip of his come-covered finger to his hole.

 

Louis’ nails dig into his knee so hard he thinks he may be drawing blood before he’s kneeing his way up the bed. His hands becomes a blur and he blinks lazily like he’s battling to keep his eyes open, before he throws his head back and comes all over Harry.

 

He goes quiet, working himself through it as the last of his come lands across Harry’s dick. He slumps back onto his haunches. Harry can feel come in his belly-button.

 

He’s overcome by fear the longer Louis stays silent, terrified he’s gone too far and Louis’ going to push him away again. When the silence becomes too much to bare, he bites the bullet.

 

‘Lou? Are you okay?’

 

Louis’ eyes find his, and then Harry’s being pulled up into kneeling position, and Louis’ kissing him.

 

Harry cups his jaw and kisses back, his fingers streaking come in his hair as Louis’ hands grab at whatever’s in reach, touching Harry’s forearms, his shoulders, his neck, before wrapping around him and pulling him close enough for their come to smear onto Louis’ stomach as well.

 

 

 

 

Eleanor and Louis both have their iPhones up to capture the performance, while Harry has graduated on to using his camera.

 

Libby is the first to come onstage, starting her class’ piece off with a short solo. Harry is full of pride, watching his little girl twirl around in her deep emerald dress, tapping her toes with great control as she extends her arms gracefully.

 

It feels like the perfect, albeit very  _Uptown Girls_ , closing scene for the movie of his summer.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Harry still feels half-asleep, pulling his feet up onto the couch. The business lounge is tranquil and cold. It smells of cucumber air-freshener.

 

Louis sips from a tiny teacup, punctuating his sips with bites of mini-quiche. There are dark bags under his eyes and his glasses sit skew on his nose. Harry feels an overwhelming sense of content looking at him and knowing that he can kiss him whenever he wants. Granted that no-one else is around, of course.

 

He sleeps through the entire flight to Naples, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder and drooling onto his t-shirt.

 

Harry is suffocated by the sweltering heat as soon as he steps off the plane, feeling like he’s just submerged himself in a hot bath until they walk off the runway and into the air-conditioned airport. Louis keeps his head down as a precaution while they wait for their luggage, only relaxing again once the two of them are safe in the vehicle waiting to take them to their hotel.

 

They have a private villa right on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the ocean. Harry can see villas on either side of them, but other than that, it’s just an uninterrupted stretch of bright blue sea as far as the eye can see.

 

Large windows let sunlight pour into the rooms so that everything is bathed in a warm glow. Concertina doors open up the main room and lead out to the terrace that overlooks the turquoise water. Harry almost wants to forget about the beaches when he sees the master bedroom. It’s a ridiculously lavish room with an inviting bed right in the centre, and he just wants to pull Louis down onto it and spend the rest of his life kissing him.

 

They want to rush straight to the beach, but Harry promised his mum that he’d call the second he had landed safely. He paces across the terrace and describes the view to his mum, promising that he’ll look after himself and wear sunblock.

 

Louis’ waiting for him inside once he’s finished his call, his beach towel flung over his shoulder and his sunglasses perched on top of his head. Harry knows he needs to dig around in his bag to try and find his swimsuit, but when he enters their room, he finds that Louis’ already set his swim shorts, sunglasses, and towel out on the bed for him, and all Harry has to do is get changed.

 

They both lay down beach towels once they reach the beach, weighted down with sunscreen and tanning lotion bottles sitting on each corner, so that they can lie side by side and soak up the sun after wading into the water.

 

They’re like children, chasing each other along the shore, running away from incoming waves before they sit right where the sea meets the shore. Harry wants to kiss him and hold his hand, but he can’t. He settles for lying down next to him and resting his hand on the sand beside Louis’, making it so that their fingers are just barely touching.

 

They return to their villa when the sun starts to go down and get changed out of their bathers. Harry’s skin already feels tight and a bit raw from the salt and sun, and his hair feels a bit gritty until he pulls it back into a bun.

 

They have supper at the hotel restaurant and then spend the rest of the night drinking the hotel bar dry. It’s only after an impromptu dip in the hotel pool at 3 am that they stumble back to their villa, giggly and dripping with pool water. They stand on the terrace to strip off their wet clothes, too tired to redress before they fall into bed together, cuddling up and falling asleep.

 

 

 

 

Harry wakes up with a mighty hangover, but one look out the window and he forces himself out of bed. He takes a pain tablet and drinks a bottle of water before he does his morning yoga out on the terrace.

 

By the time Louis finally wakes up at noon, Harry’s already gone for a swim, had breakfast, and booked them a cheesy couple’s massage at the hotel spa.

 

Louis orders room service as his breakfast and he and Harry sit in bed until they have to go to their couple’s treatment. They get to wear matching red robes, and they’re taken to a room full of scented candles and rose petals sprinkled on the massage beds.

 

They have supper at a restaurant on the beach front after spending the later part of the afternoon exploring and sight-seeing, playing footsie under the table as they feast on rich mains and honeyed desserts.

 

 

 

 

They spend their last morning on a yacht, exploring the water. They’re given goggles and snorkels so that they can jump off the yacht and swim out, and they hold hands the entire time so that they don’t swim off too far. He can see Louis in his peripheral, his arm coming to nearly bash him in the face when he tries to get Harry’s attention and points to a school of vermillion fish.

 

They drink sparkling wine on-board and snack of fresh fruit before they’re taken back to shore. They order room service as soon as they’re back at their villa, having too much food delivered to their room. They eat out on the balcony, stretched out on the soft loungers and indulging in their gluttony.

 

Harry falls into a light sleep, his lounger pressed up right next to Louis’. He’s roused by his phone vibrating next to him from Zayn calling him. Louis’ asleep next to him, so he gets up and goes inside to take the call.

 

When Harry steps back out onto the deck, squinting in the sunlight, Louis’ awake. He looks up as he approaches, his face splitting into a grin. ‘Everything okay?’

 

‘Just Zayn.’ Harry makes to sit again, but Louis shakes his head.

 

‘Come here,’ he murmurs, blatantly checking Harry out behind his aviators. Harry does as he’s told, standing at the bottom of his lounger as he waits for further instruction. Louis eyes his bottoms. ‘Off.’

 

Harry scrambles to comply, pushing them down and kicking them backwards, before standing straight again under Louis’ eager scrutiny. The smile on Louis’ lips as he looks him over is small, barely there, the slight hint of happiness that Harry’s come to associate with Louis in Thought. Louis sits up partially, taking off his sunglasses and resting them on top his book on the table beside him.

 

He pats his lap, and Harry looks at him from under his eyelashes in question. Louis nods. Harry needs no further convincing before he’s climbing into his lap, straddling his hips so that the damp material of Louis’ swimsuit is flush with his bare skin.

 

Louis draws him down with a finger under his chin until Harry’s craning over him to meet his lips in an almost shy kiss. Louis thumbs over his cheekbone, breaking their kiss to look at him again. His eyes flit over Harry’s face, and Harry would close his eyes under the attention if it weren’t for his magnetic gaze. Louis brushes his thumb over his lower lip again before he pulls him in for another kiss.

 

Harry rests one hand on the side of his neck, the other on the cushion of the lounger beside his shoulder, as Louis’ hands slowly make their way to rest on his waist. He rocks his hips up unsurely, his hands gliding down to his hips, then back up to his waist.

 

Harry grinds down against him, kissing him deeper when Louis’ hands go around to grab his arse. Louis rolls his hips up at the same time Harry grinds down, the result of which makes both of them withdraw from the kiss for air.

 

Harry goes in for another kiss, but Louis’ hand finds its way to his hair in record time, holding him back. He looks small and unsure, almost struggling to keep looking at Harry. Harry keeps quiet so to give him time to speak.

 

‘I’m,’ he cuts himself off, pulling a face at himself and squeezing his eyes shut. Harry smooths his thumb over his eyelid at the same time that he presses a soft kiss to the side of his mouth. When Louis manages to look at him again, he makes sure to give him an encouraging smile. Louis takes a deep breath. ‘I think I’m ready.’

 

Harry baulks. ‘Really?’ He clears his throat, voice having gone up a pitch too many in shock.

 

Louis nods. Harry’s not sure who grins first, but soon they’re both beaming at one another, sharing quick, excited kisses and giggling into each other’s mouths.

 

‘Are you sure?’ Harry asks once more. He feels giddy, like somebody’s put a shaken can of Coke in his chest and it’s making him thrum with excitement. Louis nods again, and this time when they kiss – Harry’s arms wrapped around his neck and Louis’ around his waist, holding him close – it’s full of teeth and warm breath.

 

Harry climbs off him, giving his half-hard cock a quick stroke to ease the tension. As soon as Louis’ standing, he pulls Harry in for another kiss, holding him by the jaw and licking into his mouth. Harry runs his hands down his back before teasing his fingers under his waistband. He pulls away from Louis, only to drop down to his knees in front of him.

 

He pulls his swim shorts down slowly, looking up at Louis the entire time. Louis holds onto his shoulder for balance as Harry helps him step out of them, chucking them to land in a wet puddle of fabric with his own. Louis squeezes his shoulder again before he tucks Harry’s hair behind his ear.

 

Harry grins up at him as he curls his fingers around his cock, half-hard and thick in his palm. He makes sure to never take his eyes off Louis as he nuzzles at his thatch of trimmed pubic hair, planting open-mouthed kisses to the base of his cock, before he finally takes him into his mouth.

 

Louis gathers up a fistful of his hair, keeping it out of his face so that he can see. Harry makes sure to hollow his cheeks to make the image worth it, unable to stop his eyes from fluttering closed in pure content.

 

He mouths over him teasingly slow until Louis’ nudging at the back of his throat. Instead of swallowing him down, he pulls back. Louis helps pull him into standing position, kissing him light enough that it makes up for the ache in his knees.

 

Louis takes him by the hand, and they make their way inside, to their room. It feels like they’re teenagers, sneaking around while their parents are asleep upstairs. Harry almost feels like a virgin again, like Louis is his boyfriend and they’re about to give their first times to one another.

 

Harry digs the lube out of his toiletry bag while Louis nips to the loo to get a condom. Harry sets the lube on the bedside table, Louis copying when he returns, and like that, it’s real. They’re going to do this. Harry looks away from the nightstand and pulls Louis in for another kiss.

 

They rut against each other lazily, getting rid of all the giddy energy so that they can think clearly. ‘Are you sure?’ Harry asks again, just in case.

 

‘Yes,’ Louis murmurs, sliding his open mouth down his neck to press a soft kiss at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Louis’ touches him everywhere, but Harry keeps his hands firmly on his shoulders to ground himself. Louis feels warm from the sun and Harry experiences another wave of disbelief that he’s here, with Louis, about to have sex with one another for the first time.

 

Before he loses his nerve, Louis steps away from him and climbs onto the bed. Harry swallows thickly, turning to face him where he’s sat back against the collection of pillows, before he bends his legs at the knee, kneeling at the edge of the mattress. He crawls up the bed slowly, settling between Louis’ legs. Louis spreads his legs wider to give him room and Harry drops down onto his forearms and takes his cock back in his mouth.

 

‘God, Harry,’ he chokes out. Harry licks up the length of him, looking up to meet his eyes as he arches his back, knowing that it makes his arse look good.

 

It must look too good, because Louis hooks his hands under his arms to pull him up the bed, so that he can kiss him again and his hands can grab at Harry’s arse, pulling his cheeks apart so his dry fingers can brush against his rim.

 

Harry reaches for the lube, not daring to stop kissing Louis as he slicks up his fingers. He rubs the lube between his fingers to warm it up before sneaking his hand between them, straining his wrist to reach down and pet at his taint, before he’s sinking his middle finger inside himself. Before he can even moan, Louis is tugging at his wrist, and rolling Harry off of him.

 

‘No,’ he says quietly, reaching for the lube, ‘I wanna do it.’

 

Harry nods, before flipping over onto his front so to make it easier. There’s the snick of the lid, and a squelch, before silence. Harry arches his back and wiggles his hips in a manner he hopes is inviting, but rather than grabbing for his arse, Louis grabs for his hand. Harry lifts his head from his crossed arms, looking back at Louis over his shoulder in question.

 

He looks like little boy lost, his fingers shiny with a lot of lube as he kneels between Harry’s thighs. He squeezes his fingers so tight it hurts. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out, and Harry understands.

 

He twists at the waist, reaching for the lube with his only free hand before he gives Louis a rueful smile and untangles their fingers so that he can pop the lid. He’s still got lube on his fingers, but he reckons better safe than sorry for their first time. Once his finger is super slick, he closes the lube and chucks it aside. It’s a bit of a pain holding himself up on his forearm to ensure that he can see Louis as his he reaches down his body. He uses his palm to hold himself open as he presses the tip of his finger to his rim. Louis’ eyes drop to watch, before he drops down to his forearms, and Harry decides he can stop straining his back.

 

He rests his head against the mattress and deepens the arch in his back as he pets at his hole to get it wet, before he’s pressing his finger in slowly. Louis’ breathing so heavy that he can feel it against his taint, against his finger, and his cock twitches where it’s sandwiched between his tummy and the mattress.

 

He doesn’t a big a show of it, but he does go slowly, allowing himself to really enjoy the feel of it when he fucks his finger into himself slowly. He jumps when Louis puts his hands on him, resting on the backs of his thighs before sliding up higher.

 

The ghost of his touch makes his skin prick in goose bumps, shivering as his fingers graze the tops of his inner thighs, so close to where he needs him. Louis’ slow and cautious when he rests his hands on Harry’s arse, cupping a cheek in each palm before he squeezes and spreads him apart better than Harry can. He can feel Louis’ outbreath where his finger is fucking into himself, and that, paired with the curious way that Louis’ thumb comes to trace at where his finger disappears inside of him, causes him to tease at his rim with his index finger, pressing it in alongside his middle finger.

 

‘No,’ Louis says softly, before coughing like he’s shocked by himself. He clears his throat. ‘Can I?’

 

Harry nods, lifting his arse higher as he listens to Louis put even more lube on his fingers. God, if he keeps on like this, Harry should buy stocks in the lube business. He touches Harry’s wrist lightly, and Harry withdraws. Louis makes a sound of displeasure, taking Harry’s hand but folding back all but his middle finger and guiding it back to his hole.

 

 _Oh_ , Harry thinks, pressing his finger back inside himself before Louis’ finger nudges against it. Harry nods against his forearm, wiggling his hips again to entice Louis. Louis uses the hand still holding him open to press his hips down to the mattress, forcing him to stay still as he slowly presses his finger in alongside Harry’s own.

 

‘Oh, God,’ Harry moans, fighting against Louis’ force to raise his hips for more. It’s only two fingers, and the stretch isn’t too awful, but it feels so good because it’s _Louis_. He’s got Louis’ finger inside of him.

 

‘It’s so soft,’ Louis says, almost in awe. Harry can only gasp in response. ‘And so hot. Fuck, Harry.’

 

Harry nods. Fuck Harry. That sounds good. He fucks himself faster, hoping Louis will copy. He does, bless his soul, crooking his finger to stretch him out a bit. ‘Does that feel good?’ he asks quietly. Harry nods before he starts to feel around for his spot. A low moan spills out of him when he finds it, a shiver rolling down his spine.

 

‘Lou,’ he groans. His voice has gone all low and scratchy, no matter how many times he tries to swallow it away. ‘Here, please touch me here.’

 

Louis spreads his arse wider and rests his arm on the back of his thigh, so that he’s got Harry how he wants him. It takes some time, and Louis’ nail scratches at him quite painfully, before he manages to feel his way to his prostate, his finger taking Harry’s place.

 

He presses lightly, and Harry’s moan tapers off high. Christ, only he and Nick have ever managed to get him to sound like that.

 

‘Does that feel good?’ Louis asks again, when Harry whimpers.

 

‘Yes, fuck,’ Harry pants, his eyes hazy. Louis pulls at his wrist until his finger slips out of himself, and Louis can press back in with two. He feels around a bit again until he finds Harry’s swollen spot.

 

‘Fuck, you’re so tight.’ Louis’ voice is clipped, and Harry can’t even respond before he’s pressing down and Harry’s washed over by another wave of pure pleasure. He feels incredibly sensitive, like every time Louis teases over his spot, the pleasure is so intense it nearly burns.

 

‘Another,’ Harry chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut, ‘another finger please.’

 

Louis’ third finger slides in slow, encouraging a long moan out of the pit of Harry’s tummy. It burns beautifully. ‘Spread them, a bit. Need to stretch me,’ he pants. Louis does just that, spreading his fingers so that Harry’s hole burns and it’s so good. God, he feels so full from his fingers alone.

 

‘Is that alright?’ Louis asks softly, twisting his fingers inside of him. ‘Does it hurt?’

 

‘Yes, no,’ Harry answers, ‘it’s good, it’s good, it’s good.’

 

‘Do you need another finger?’

 

God, Harry feels impossibly full at the mere thought. ‘No, m’fine. Want you inside me, fuck.’

 

Louis presses a kiss to the small of his back, his lips just hovering lightly as he pulls his fingers out and Harry’s left feeling uncomfortably empty. Louis runs his finger over Harry’s hole, and Harry feels himself clench around nothing at the touch. He imagines what Louis sees, knows his hole is probably a bit red and swollen now, and unbelievably wet.

 

Harry rubs his cheek against the mattress before he looks back at Louis. He’s staring at the condom between his slick fingers blankly. Harry sits up and turns to face him. He uses his clean hand to brush his fringe out of his eyes.

 

‘It’s alright if you don’t want to, we can stop whenever you want.’

 

Louis, apparently unfamiliar with lube etiquette, cups his cheek with his wet hand and kisses the tip of his nose, then his mouth. He rests his forehead against Harry's, and Harry’s already wondering if Louis will be able to finger him to orgasm if not fuck him, when Louis brushes his nose against his cheek.

 

‘I was just wondering how on earth I’m going to fit inside you.’

 

His eyes are sparkling, and Harry snorts. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. But really, we can stop whenever you need to, alright?’

 

Louis nods, kissing his cheek before tilting Harry’s head back so that he can claim his mouth in a bruising kiss.

 

Once his lips feel sufficiently swollen, he moves himself back into position, grabbing a pillow to shove under his hips and another for his head. He watches quietly over his shoulder as Louis rolls the condom onto himself, giving himself a few lazy strokes before reaching for the lube.

 

Once his cock is shiny enough to be seen from space, Louis decides he’s satisfied. He makes to position himself better, but stutters when he sees Harry watching him.

 

‘Oy, keep your eyes to yourself,’

 

Harry sticks out his tongue and keeps watching him as he touches Harry like he’s fragile, running his hands down his sides and getting him very lube-y, before he spreads his arse and admires him. It’s difficult to watch without wanting to hide his face, how awed Louis looks as he brushes his fingers over Harry’s pucker, probably in denial that he’ll ever fit. Harry’s cheeks flush the longer Louis stares, smiling to himself.

 

‘Louis,’ he whines impatiently, lifting his arse slightly to snap him from his trance.

 

Louis’ eyes bore into his when he looks up, and Harry feels like he’s swallowed the sun when a rush of warmth floods through him.

 

‘I love you, Harry.’ He’s shockingly serious, all traces of giddiness gone.

 

It’s then, in the middle of Naples, with half a bottle’s worth of lube dripping down to his balls, that he realises how much he loves him back. ‘I love you too.’

 

Louis fits over his back to kiss him, making Harry crane his neck even more so that it starts to ache, before he feels the slick head of Louis’ cock pressing against him and he gasps. ‘God, I love you so much.’

 

Louis kisses him quiet, pressing his hips forward until he starts to press in. All the air is sucked out of Harry’s lungs, and he presses his face into his arm as Louis sits back on his haunches to get better control.

 

He keeps one hand holding him open as he presses in slowly, and Harry, despite the crick in his neck, has to see him. His face is amazing, mouth open and eyes wide. He watches in awe as Harry opens up around him, his tiny hole stretching as he feeds his cock into him.

 

Harry lets out a tiny moan. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt. He feels so full, like he’s being split open. Another glance over his shoulder shows him that Louis’ not even halfway.

 

‘God,’ he squeaks, squeezing his eyes closed. Louis snaps his eyes away from where they’re connected.

 

‘Are you okay? Am I hurting you?’

 

Harry shakes his head. ‘It’s good. S’a lot. Fuck, Louis, feel so full.’

 

Louis hunches over to kiss his temple, and the movement makes his cock shift inside him, so that Harry cries out and Louis’ eyes slide shut.

 

He rights himself, moving the hand from the base of his cock to rather rest on Harry’s waist. He presses down so that Harry’s hips arch up more, and he can slide another inch into him.

 

‘You’re so tight, feel so amazing. God, is it okay? Should I stop?’

 

Harry shakes his head. He feels like he’s going to burst. ‘How much more?’

 

‘I’m about halfway.’

 

Harry groans. He feels like Louis’ touching his heart, like there’s not more space inside of him, and he’s only got _half_ inside him. ‘Lou, Lou,’ Harry pants, twisting his arm to bat at Louis’ hand on his arse until he links their fingers. Louis’ hands are shaking. ‘Need a moment.’

 

Louis squeezes his fingers before using their joined hands to hold his arse open so he can get a good look. ‘Fuck, babe, you’re amazing. It looks so good. You’re taking me so well,’ Harry notes the tremble in his voice. He squeezes his hand tighter. ‘God, like you were made for this.’

 

His voice is so soft that Harry nearly misses it, but his words make him flush, his arsehole clenching around him. Louis moans.

 

‘Fuck me, Lou, fuck me, fuck me,’ he gasps, rubbing his cheek against the cool bedding.

 

Louis groans before he draws out slightly, pushing back in slow enough that it’s absolute torture. He does it again, and again, never speeding up as he fucks Harry so slow and so good that he feels it in his teeth.

 

‘Does that feel good?’ Louis asks earnestly, and Harry grunts.

 

‘You feel amazing, Lou. I feel like I’m gonna burst.’ He moans, before remembering his manners. ‘Do you like it?’

 

Louis’ response comes in the form of a rumbling groan when he manages to work another inch into Harry.

 

He lowers himself down so that his chest is plastered against Harry’s back, his elbow digging into the mattress beside his shoulder. He presses his open mouth to the back of Harry’s neck. It’s on a particularly hard thrust that Harry keens and Louis’ mouth finds his, meeting in a sloppy kiss before all they can manage is pressing their mouths together.

 

Harry cries out when he hits his spot dead-on, his back arching and leg kicking out. Louis adjusts his position so that he can draw out until his cockhead rubs up against Harry’s spot. ‘Louis,’ he pants, reaching back to grab onto whatever parts of him he can reach.

 

Louis plants a row of butterfly kisses along his shoulders, grinding into Harry filthily so that Harry’s hardly even aware of the sounds he’s making anymore. He picks himself up so that he’s resting on his elbows, able rock back against Louis.

 

His head hangs between his shoulders, hair falling in his eyes as Louis’ fingers find his again. Harry moves with him, rolling his hips back as Louis wraps around him and holds tight.

 

‘You feel so good,’ Harry tells him in between gasps, clenching down around him, ‘I love you.’

 

‘Wanna see your face.’

 

Harry nods before Louis pulls out, not even giving Harry chance to feel empty before he’s got him on his back, pillow under his hips, pressing back into him. He feels the breath get knocked out of him all over again, only this time he’s got Louis staring directly at him.

 

‘I love you,’ Harry gasps again. Louis drops down onto his forearms to kiss him again, pressing in as slow as before as he teases Harry’s mouth open with his tongue. He slides each of his arms under Harry’s, so that Harry’s underarms press to his inner elbows and Louis can cup the back of his head.

 

‘I love you Harry.’ He says, fucking into him hard enough that he grunts.

 

Harry looks down, past his flushed cock, to where Louis’ disappearing inside him. Louis follows his gaze, groaning at the image. ‘Only a little more, do you think you can take it?’

 

Harry nods, trying to tilt his hips so he can see better when Louis takes a steadying breath and pushes. Harry can’t breathe, doesn’t breathe while he’s stuffed full of Louis’ cock, until he feels his hips press to his arse and he groans.

 

‘Holy fuck,’ Louis mutters, staying perfectly still once he’s fully inside. ‘S’amazing. You’re amazing Harry, take me so beautifully. Is it okay?’

                                                                                                                                                                                                        

Harry’s still struggling to breathe, grabbing at Louis’ biceps and digging his nails in as he nods. Louis uses his hold on him to tilt his head up, so that he can kiss him again.

 

He feels dizzy and hot and so _so_ good and all he can see is Louis. It’s over too soon, Louis coming inside him first then curling his fingers around Harry and finishing him off until he’s coming all over himself.

 

Harry has never felt happier, he decides, when Louis starts kissing him again, the two of them boneless and satisfied.


	7. Chapter 7

 

It’s sad to leave their little bubble of sun, sex, and debauchery. He feels ridiculously wistful when he climbs into the waiting taxi and the resort just gets smaller the farther they get.

 

The air-con of the airport is a relief from the blistering heat, and this time round they don’t have to wait long before they can board the private jet.

 

He feels like a spoiled heiress, tucked into the tan leather seat with champagne at arm’s reach. Despite the fact that they’ve got the entire plane to themselves, Louis still comes and crowds him in his own chair.

 

‘Get your own,’ Harry grumbles, trying and failing to eject Louis from his seat.

 

‘Oi, stop it. I’m paying so I can sit wherever I want, and I want to sit on you.’

 

Harry gives him a steely look as Louis manages to slip into the small space available and squeeze in next to Harry, so that their hipbones are packed together, and he has no idea how either of them will ever be able to stand up. Louis noses at his neck and steals one of his earbuds to watch the movie with him.

 

It’s only a three hour flight, which he didn’t mind on the trip over, but now he feels he needs to make the most of the trip and like three hours is not enough time for him to fully enjoy the luxury.

 

He and Louis sip champagne and change chairs periodically, making sure that they have sat in every chair. Only then, does Louis decide they’re allowed to cuddle up on one of the couches for the rest of the flight.

 

They go through all the photos of their trip on Harry’s phone, deleting the crap ones and favourite-ing the ones Harry needs to send to Louis. Louis’ seems appalled as he watches Harry fiddle around in VSCO, editing his favourites so that they’ll match his Instagram feed.

 

‘All that effort and it looks exactly the same,’ Louis mutters, ‘It’s like watching El do her makeup.’

 

Harry saves the final product so to post it after they land before he locks his phone and leans up to kiss Louis’ cheek. ‘Not all of us can get away with using the Instagram filters, some of us need to work to get followers.’

 

‘Still seems pointless.’

 

Harry shrugs before turning more towards Louis and snuggling in. He just wants to enjoy the last bit of alone-time they have together, before it’s back to hiding.

 

 

 

 

'Come on, it's only fair; I carried you when we got to Italy.'

                               

Louis sighs like Harry is doing him the biggest misdeed of his life before he bends slightly at the waist. The flight attendant regards them with thinly veiled amusement as he stands beside the open door.

 

Harry clambers onto his back, wrapping his arms around his neck and legs around his waist like an octopus. A very gangly, heavy octopus.

 

'Thank you for flying with us, Mr Tomlinson, Mr Styles.' The flight attendant finally gets to recite, gesturing for Louis to make his way out.

 

Harry near chokes him as he disembarks, huffing mischievous laughter into the back of Louis' head as Louis piggy-backs him off the plane and down onto the landing strip. They've even rolled out the red carpet, how nice. It is of course a customary gesture, but it's nice all the same.

 

Louis adjusts his grip under Harry's thighs just as he becomes aware of a bright flash in the distance. Louis takes a moment's pause, and squints of in search of the source.

 

Liam really could do with a holiday, Harry thinks, when he spots him bickering with a burly man in the distance. It takes him another second to process the fact that the man is holding a camera is his hands, and has most likely just gotten a shot of Louis and Harry that will feed his entire extended family.

 

Louis lets go and Harry’s feet touch the ground as reality starts to sink back in. The man with the camera is escorted away, while Liam marches towards them like a man on a mission.

 

Harry’s in a daze from the moment Liam stops in front of them and holds up a copy of The Daily Mail. He doesn’t hear anything he says, can only watch his mouth move. He feels like he’s still underwater, holding Louis’ hand as they glide through the blue water. Except Louis isn’t holding his hand. Louis isn’t touching him at all.

 

He’s hardly aware of life moving around him as his feet start to move forward and the world blurs around him, until he’s deposited into the backseat of a town car. His mouth feels dry and he looks around at Liam and Louis like he’s never seen either of them before.

 

Liam hands over in a thick pile, letting the pair of them absorb the new information. Terror wraps around Harry’s lungs and squeezes, the heavy feeling of dread blossoming out from his core as he blinks slowly and processes what he’s seeing.

 

It’s him and Louis on the deck, from the day they had sex for the first time. It feels like an out-of-body experience, because Harry cannot bring himself to process the fact that the naked and blurred-out man in Louis Tomlinson’s lap is him.

 

He wants to cry, paging through a glossy magazine, only to find a spread of him and Louis inside. He thinks he’s going to be sick. There’s pictures of him coming out of the door, wearing his swimsuit; standing before Louis naked; sitting in Louis’ lap; Louis’ hands on him. Everything is censored with Sims-level blur.

 

Louis does start to cry, hand over his mouth. Harry’s in shock, registering the copy of the multiple articles and reading the headlines. Words like **AFFAIR** and **CHEATING** and **ILLICIT** and **BOY TOY** jump out at him.

 

He closes his eyes and removes himself from the situation, imagining that he’s back in Italy, underwater in the hidden caves and safe with the man he loves. He feels someone squeeze his hand and he opens his eyes, expecting to see Louis looking back at him but seeing Liam instead.

 

Liam offers his a tissue wordlessly, and only then does Harry realise that he’s crying. Louis’ got his head in his hands next to him, his back shaking. The car’s moving.

 

‘Where are we going?’ Harry croaks.

 

Liam looks at him sympathetically. ‘We’re going to Louis’ family’s house until we figure this all out.’ He speaks slowly, like Harry’s a little boy who doesn’t understand. Harry feels like a little boy, and he doesn’t understand.

 

‘I want to go home.’ He whimpers. He wants to go home. He wants his mum. He wants Gemma. He wants Zayn. He wants Nick. Mostly, he wants Louis.

 

Liam starts talking to him again, but Harry can’t bring himself to make sense of what he’s saying. He just closes his eyes and lets himself fall asleep, hoping that he’ll wake up back in Italy and that it was all a nightmare.

 

 

 

 

Harry wakes up when the car stops. He opens his eyes with great difficulty and peers out the window. They appear to have stopped in front of a house.

 

He sits up and rubs his eyes as he stifles a yawn. He looks around and sees Liam sitting before him, staring at him patiently.

 

‘How long was I asleep?’

 

‘About three and a half hours,’ Liam answers. He doesn’t look like he hates Harry for possibly fucking up the career of his sole client, ‘Louis’ inside already.’

 

As Harry stumbles up the pathway to the front door, he realises that he’s finally meeting Louis’ family. He musters up all he can to plaster a smile on his face and forcefully lift his mood. His family already probably has low expectations for him, he refuses to lower them even further.

 

‘It’s never been this quiet before,’ Liam tells him upon entering the house. It does seem too quiet, almost eerily so.

 

The whole Tomlinson clan is gathered in the living room, and the silence is deafening upon Harry’s entrance. Harry hovers uncertainly on the outskirts of the room while a handful of woman that look like Louis stare at him. He looks over to Louis helplessly but Louis’ too busy staring at his shoes to notice.

 

‘Right, I’ll go and get your bags then, shall I?’ Liam says to cut the silence, before he escapes the tension. Harry reaches for his ring, only to remember it’s still in his suitcase.

 

The oldest of the brood, whom Harry guesses is Louis’ mum, is the first to take control of the situation. ‘You must be Harry. Have a seat. Would you like some tea?’

 

She speaks so fast that she’s already made Harry sit and left the room to make tea by the time he’s registered what she said. He thinks the rest of the family must go to help her because when he blinks again, it’s just him and Louis, alone.

 

‘You’re family’s huge,’ Harry says softly, trying his best to smile and lift his own spirits, ‘it’s like _The Sound of Music_.’ There’s a faint murmuring coming from the kitchen.

 

'We are hardly the Von Trapps, Harry.' Louis bites back with such venom that Harry falters.

 

He shrinks back in his seat. His efforts in elevating Louis' mood have only managed to make his own plummet. The quiet murmuring in the kitchen stutters to an ominous silence. 'I was only trying to take your mind of things.'

 

‘I can't just take my mind off things! My life is ruined!'

 

Harry's shoulders slump and withdraws into himself. Louis, seeming to also have noticed the silence coming from the kitchen, pushes his chair back with a hair-raising scrape before he curls his fingers around Harry's bicep and tugs him into standing.

 

He half-drags Harry through the living room, past the kitchen so Harry can see the entire Tomlinson brood huddled in the kitchen and looking a mix of shocked and horrified as Louis drags him out into the garden, past Liam as he’s setting their suitcases down beside the front door. Louis gives him a look, and Liam skitters away, presumably to join the others in the kitchen.

 

As they stand there, in the middle of the front garden where anyone could see, Louis starts unloading on him. Harry switches off, his jaw-dropping as Louis unleashes years of repressed anger and fear onto him, blaming Harry for everything.

 

Harry wishes he had the skill of forming and voicing his thoughts as effortlessly as Louis. Louis carries on, but Harry can't speak. He feels like he's shutting down as Louis delivers blow after blow, pulling at loose threads until he's unravelled months of them knowing one another. Harry feels like he's being overloaded with too much, and he wants to shout back at Louis just as loud, and defend himself because Louis is being cruel. But somewhere between three and four minutes into Louis' rant, Harry just turns off and finds himself smiling shakily.

 

He holds up his hands to offer peace and blinks furiously to fight the tears that are once again threatening to spill.

 

'You're right, I'm sorry. I'm just going to go.'

 

Louis stares at him like he's grown a second head, until his puffed up chest deflates, and he looks down at the ground, unable to meet Harry's eyes. He nods once, and Harry feels his lower lip tremble as his pasted on smile starts to lift at the edges.

 

‘I just–’ Louis starts, not meeting Harry’s eye, his volume soft, ‘I think we need a break.’

 

Louis folds his arms over his chest, hugging himself in the nippy weather, but he doesn't say anything more as Harry retrieves his bags from the entryway. His mind is slowly catching on, and as he stands in front of Louis his brain finally starts shouting good arguments to defend himself.

 

He ignores the mental onslaught and rather opens his mouth to apologize maybe, or say goodbye, or ask if they can speak in the morning. But Louis is still staring determinedly at the gravel, and Harry feels the stab of ice in his chest as his heart breaks.

 

He turns and starts walking down the drive as tears fall down his cheeks. He feels like he can't breathe, like he's being kicked in the lung with every step he takes. By now, he's caught up enough mentally to realise that he's not being smart, but he's hoping that Louis will fix it. He walks slowly in the hopes that Louis will run after him and tell him he's sorry, or that Harry can't go.

 

But, despite the fact that he's walking at half-pace, he makes it down the road and Louis has still not run after him. He feels like he's got a boa constrictor wrapped around him, and his tears fall freely. He's still hoping that Louis will fix it, his stubbornness obstructing him from allowing himself to sprint back.

 

It's then he realises that he's almost a block away. And Louis isn't going to run after him. His mind has caught up enough to realise how stupid he's been, and that he has absolutely no idea where he's going.

 

He finds the train station within the bracket of half an hour, having had to take a moment’s pause to unlock his case and dig around for a jumper to fend off the extreme chill. Within said time bracket, he's managed two soliloquies, interrupted by a quick sob on the pavement, but he's managed to pull himself together.

 

By the time he's sitting on the last train of the night to Cheshire, he's moved deeper into the dark depths of his heartbreak, enough so that he just feels empty.

 

 

 

 

‘Harry?’

 

The sight of his mum, standing at the door in her pyjamas and obviously just woken up, is enough to break him. He collapses into her arms and can’t stop bawling as soon as he starts.

 

She pulls him inside and into the living room while all Harry can do is cling onto her and cry. She sits down on the sofa and Harry half climbs her, clinging on tight and sobbing into her chest like he did when he was a child. He feels like he’s breaking, like he can’t breathe as he cries and cries and cries.

 

Anne has to stroke down his back to calm him when he starts working himself into hysterics, soothing him and rocking him gently. She cards through his hair until he stops crying and just hiccoughs into her chest, feeling congested and tired and scared.

 

He hears her talking to Robin and he can’t even find the energy to feel embarrassed about causing such a scene or feel bad for waking them both. Robin picks him up easily and carries him upstairs like he used to when Harry was little and would pretend to fall asleep just so that he could be carried.

 

Robin sets him down on his old bed and he starts crying again, looking at the poster of Louis in _Blue Dawn_. Anne’s quick to take it down before she tries to quiet him again. Harry closes his eyes and tries to will the past 24 hours away, tears streaming from the corner of his eyes and into his ears as his mum takes off his shoes for him and Robin lugs his suitcase upstairs.

 

They don’t try to make him talk, they just stay until he cries himself to exhaustion and finally falls asleep.

 

 

 

 

He feels wide awake when he wakes up, and he hates it. He wishes he were still exhausted, so he wouldn’t have to face the clarity of his life. He’s still wearing his clothes from the plane, but he refuses to open his suitcase and go through the heartache. Instead, he slips on an old pair of his pyjama pants and a jumper that used to be Gemma’s.

 

He can hear Anne and Robin chatting in the kitchen as he creeps down the stairs and all the embarrassment and shame he was too tired to feel the night before accosts him. He shuffles into the kitchen with red cheeks and his head down, staring at his feet as he prepares himself to apologise.

 

‘My baby,’ his mum coos, pulling him into a hug before he can say sorry.

 

Robin joins in, keeping him trapped between the two of them. He doesn’t want to, but he starts to cry again.

 

He’s wrapped up in a duvet on the couch. The landline is unplugged. Liam keeps calling him. Louis has yet to call him. Harry lets Zayn know that he’s alive before his mum takes his phone to try and make Liam stop calling, but eventually Harry drags himself off the couch and into the dining room. He doesn’t want to his mum to have to fight his battles.

 

Gemma comes through to take him off his parent’s hands, with the promise that he can stay in her guest bedroom for as long as he likes. He can’t go home, because apparently there is a constant swarm of paps outside the flat, and Zayn’s already had a minor altercation with one of them.

 

But it’s fine. Harry’s fine, spending his days trapped inside Gemma’s house and not even feeling half-human. The only thing that vaguely helps is her chow chow, Amika, who stops Harry from going insane.

 

He’s tried to keep away from the media, but one late night search let him know that Louis was filming in Paris, and that he’s released a very vague statement. It breaks Harry's heart and makes him feel hollow.

 

But other than that blip in the road, he feels like he’s slowly healing his heartbreak. Until Eleanor calls.

 

Gemma’s very hesitant about letting him go, but Harry has to go and fetch his things and he wants to do it himself.

 

Eleanor is very sympathetic and apologises profusely, but Harry understands when she says he can’t work for her anymore. It’s practically the end of summer anyway, he rationalises with himself later.

 

‘I wish you the best of luck, and I’ll be happy to help you however I can once everything’s died down a little.’ She hugs him tight.

 

Harry never realised how much crap he’d accumulated until he tries to squash it all into his suitcase. He feels a bit teary as he takes the photo of his family off the mirror, and his array of candles off the dresser. He loads his suitcase into his boot and takes a deep breath to prepare him for the next bit.

 

He thought about it the whole ride over, but he’s decided not to tell Libby the truth.

 

He feels choked up when he slowly walks into the living room and watches her lying down on her stomach, playing with her stickers and singing along with Princess Sophia. His boots click against the floor and she turns around and sees him.

 

Her face absolutely lights up and she scrambles to get up, running to Harry and wrapping her arms around his hips. Harry takes a shaky breath and squeezes his eyes closed before dropping down onto his knees.

 

‘Where have you been?’ she asks accusingly, frowning and crossing her arms over her chest. Harry chokes on a laugh, reaching up to brush her hair out of her face.

 

‘I’ve been on holiday,’ he lies, trying to commit every eyelash, every freckle, to his memory.

 

‘I missed you,’ Libby whispers bringing her thumb up to her mouth and looking down at her feet.

 

‘I missed you too, Libbs.’ Harry blinks fast as his eyes start to tear up. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go away again, but you’ll see me again, okay?’

 

‘When?’ She’s not really listening, bringing her hands up and poking Harry’s face. Harry laughs again, and Libby pokes her pointer finger into his dimple.

 

‘It might be a while, but I will see you again. I promise,’ His voice wobbles and he pulls Libby into another hug, wrapping his arms around her tight and pressing his face to the top of her head. She smells like her Lush shampoo, and Harry tries to stop them, but tears roll down his cheeks.

 

He starts to shake as he cries silently, just clinging onto Libby for the last time. He pulls back and wipes his eyes, forcing a smile for Libby.

 

‘Why- why are you crying?’

 

‘No reason,’ Harry tells her, looking at her big baby blues once more before he stands up, ‘I’ll see you soon, okay?’

 

‘Okay.’ Libby affirms. She looks down at her feet, then at the television, and then back at Harry. ‘I love you.’

 

Harry forces himself to keep smiling when he says, ‘I love you too, Libbs.’

 

Libby, seemingly satisfied, returns to her spot in front of the television and Harry watches her a bit longer.

 

‘Don’t forget me, okay Libbs?’ He says softly.

 

Libby giggles and looks back at him. ‘Don’t be silly, Harry.’

 

Harry returns her grin, and turns to leave. Eleanor’s nowhere to be seen, so he lets himself linger as he walks toward the front door. Ruby’s sleeping in her bed in the kitchen and she perks up when Harry passes, jumping up and running towards him. She’s grown so much.

 

He crouches down and gives her a scratch, kissing the top of her head. ‘Stay,’ he commands sternly. Ruby doesn’t listen.

 

She scampers alongside him out to his car, and Harry tries to shoo her away, but she ignore him, trying to jump up into his car once he climbs in. She whines and wags her tail happily, staring up at him with wide-eyes.

 

She tries to jump up again and Harry bends to push at her chest lightly until she backs up and he can close the door. She whines and scratches at his door and it’s too much.

 

Harry starts to sob, resting his head on his steering wheel and crying and Ruby whines along with him. She runs after the car to the end of the driveway when he pulls away.

 

He has to pull over just down the road because he can’t see anything through his tears.

 

 

 

 

Harry goes back to his and Zayn’s flat because he’s not in the mood to have Gemma try to cheer him up and he just wants to wallow in his sadness for a bit. While he waits for Zayn to get home and keep him company, he pulls off Louis’ ring and stares at it.

 

He can’t bring himself to get rid of it so instead he puts it into his underwear drawer. His finger looks bare, a thin strip of tender, white skin wrapping around his middle finger. It looks like under-baked dough, juxtaposed with the golden brown of the rest of his hand.

 

He feels an irrational anger bubble from his core, staring at the lily white flesh. He digs around in his ring dish before slipping Ben’s ring on his finger.

 

The second his ring is back on his finger, something inside him shuts down, and he’s a man on a mission when he pours himself into his striped trousers, pulling on a shirt and doing up only the last buttons. He pulls on his heeled boots and pulls his hair back out of his face.

 

He hears Zayn get home, speaking to him from the lounge, but Harry doesn’t listen and rather stuffs his phone into his pocket and strides out of his room, towards the front door.

 

‘Where’re you going?’

 

‘Out.’

 

He slams the door after himself before Zayn can chastise him.

 

 

 

 

It feels like everyone knows who he is, staring and whispering about him. He feels too self-conscious, alcohol not helping him let loose when he knows that he’s being watched and scrutinised in his very own Truman Show.

 

He sits at the bar and just drinks, ignoring all the calls he’s getting from Zayn and Gemma and Nick and Anne and Robin. His tongue feels heavy and the world is spinning, but he needs to move so he stumbles off his barstool and pushes into the crowd.

 

The crowd parts for him like he’s Moses, staring at him openly as he passes. He wanted to dance, but he can’t, not when he feels like he’s in a zoo, so he keeps walking until he finds himself outside the club, shivering from the cold.

 

The people waiting to get in murmur as they recognise him, and Harry needs to escape. He keeps his head down and walks away as fast as he can, but no matter how far he goes, he feels like everyone is watching him. He’s dizzy and scared and he wants to hide and he looks around and realises that he has no idea where he is. He’s going to be sick.

 

He hones in on the beacon of light that is a 24 hour curry house, stumbling towards it like it’s some sort of oasis in the dessert. He’s struggling to keep himself upright when he walks inside and his stomach turns at the strong scent of spices.

 

Patrons stop eating to look at him, but Harry ignores them and asks no one in particular, ‘Can I use your loo?’

 

A concerned-looking waiter points him in the right direction, and Harry tries to smile before he rushes inside.

 

As soon as he’s closed the door, he’s emptying his stomach contents into the toilet bowl, retching as tears prick at his eyes. As soon as he seems to be done, he sits back on his knees and leans against the cold wall.

 

He can’t stop himself when he starts to cry, feeling pathetic and heartbroken and he doesn’t know where he is.

 

He should call Zayn, because he’s probably sick with worry. He should call Gemma, but he doesn’t want his big sister to see him in such a mess. There are so many people that he should call, but instead he hovers over Louis’ contact.

 

He’s about to call him but he catches himself, so instead he types in the number Zayn made him delete, but he knows off by heart.

 

It rings and Harry sniffles, pulling his knees up to his chest and struggling to breathe when his throat is so clogged up with snot. He closes his eyes when someone finally answers.

 

‘Ben?’ Harry says in a small voice.

 

‘Harry?’ Ben’s voice is warm and comforting.

 

‘Ben, I’m scared.’

 

‘What’s wrong?’ His voice sounds stern. ‘Where are you?’

 

‘I don’t know,’ Harry whimpers, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

 

‘I’ll come get you. What can you see? Explain to me and I’ll find you.’

 

He tries to explain, and Ben decides he knows where he is and puts down so that he can focus on driving. Harry starts to sober up quickly as he sits alone in the small bathroom, wanting to crawl into a hole and hide.

 

 _Outside_. Ben texts him.

 

Harry stands up on shaky legs and leaves the loo. He feels ashamed when he walks out into the restaurant and sees Ben apologising to the owners for him, and he wants to run back into the bathroom, but Ben turns around and sees him.

 

It’s like no time has passed at all when he helps Harry into his car. ‘Should I take you home, or do you want to come back to mine?’

 

‘Yours.’ Harry breathes, turning to stare out the window so that he doesn’t have to look at Ben.

 

 

He doesn't understand how it happens, but 20 minutes later and he's in Ben's bedroom and kissing him. He starts crying.

 

‘Harry,’ Ben says lowly, smoothing his hand up the back of his thigh before resting on his arse. His other hand runs up the line of his back, before curling around the back of his neck like he’s a little pup. Harry sobs again, body wracked with shakes as Ben tuts and presses down with the hand on his neck, grabbing a handful of arsecheek with the other and digging his nails in.

 

His mind feels fuzzy, and Harry’s lung constrict.

 

‘No,’ he says softly, then again louder. He keeps repeating it as he sits up and pushes Ben away, tears running down his cheeks as he looks around the room for his clothes.

 

‘Harry.’ Ben says lowly. Harry shakes his head, panics. ‘Harry, listen to me. We don’t have to do anything, but you need to calm down.’

 

Harry’s going to throw up.

 

'Leave me alone Ben, I can't be here right now.' He starts pulling on his clothes and Ben watches him silently, until he huffs out a snide laugh.

 

‘You know what Harry, you obviously see me as the villain in your life story. That’s fine, but try and see things from my perspective. I meet this amazing boy and I’m willing to give up everything for him. I love him with all my heart, and I do everything I can to protect him when the university finds out about us. He says he’ll drop out, and I promise to help him get in somewhere else. I think things are going well, and then he just disappears and doesn’t answer my calls or agree to see me. How do you think I feel?’

 

Harry shakes his head furiously as he tries to reject the information. ‘You’re married!’ He shouts eventually.

 

‘I am, actually,’ Ben says, and Harry feels a sense of victory until Ben continues, ‘I’m sorry I never told you, but I am married. We're unofficially separated, and she knew about you. She gave me permission, but I didn’t want to scare you.’

 

‘No,’ Harry spits, ‘you’re married and you used me. You _used_ me Ben. You ruined my life because I had to drop out of university to keep you safe- ‘

 

‘I didn’t use you Harry, I loved you! Where is all this coming from? I thought you understood that I was going to take care of everything. I was going to do anything I could to look after you because I wanted to be with you.’

 

Harry puts his head in his hands and cries. It’s not nice, seeing himself from Ben’s perspective. It’s easier just placing the blame on someone else to create a villain, instead of shouldering all the responsibility. He is as much Ben’s villain as Ben is his.

 

He crumbles down onto the floor and tries to calm down as Colin comes to try and lick up his snot. He chokes out a laugh and tries to push him away, but Colin’s persistent until Ben sits down beside him and pulls Colin into his lap.

 

‘I’m sorry,’ Harry tells him softly.

 

‘I’m sorry too.’ Ben replies, his knee bumping Harry’s. ‘We should probably meet up to talk things over properly, but I think I should take you home now.’

 

Harry only agrees to go home after a drink to help him deal with Zayn, but the long drive is a lot more comfortable now that he and Ben have actually talked.

 

 

 

 

Ben drops him off at his flat, and Zayn takes one look at him before he forces Harry into the passenger seat of his own car and starts driving them to Gemma's. He must be a lot drunker than he thought if Zayn can't even look after him. He leans against Zayn while he speaks to Gemma, picking up on the term 'Harry Watch'.

 

He doesn’t like that. _Harry Watch_. He collapses onto her sofa and holds out his hand for Amika to walk into. He gives her chest a scratch as Zayn and Gem talk in hushed tones, casting him a few worried glances. Harry tunes them out as he focusses on the television.

 

It’s Louis, wandering through the jungle and looking golden and beefy and Harry aches. He feels like there’s a black hole in his chest. He feels like the world is ending.

 

Gemma joins him once Zayn’s gone, forcefully changing the channel so that Harry can’t torture himself. She makes him watch something horrible that he can’t pay attention to, so instead he leans over to carry of scratching Amika’s chest.

 

His hair falls into his eyes as he does, and his heart aches again. Louis used to love his hair. Harry hates his hair.

 

‘Gem, can you make me blond?’ Harry asks in a small voice. Gemma doesn’t seem to hear him. ‘Gemma, I want to be blond.’

 

Gemma looks over at him when he sits up, reaching to lower the volume as Harry starts pulling at his hair.

 

‘I hate it,’ he cries, clutching and grabbing his hair as his vision starts to cloud over with tears. ‘I want it gone!’

 

Gemma grabs his wrists to restrain him, pulling him to her as he starts crying in earnest. ‘I want to be blond!’ He sobs over and over again. Gemma seems scared, and when she tries to rationalise with him he just cries harder, until she finally wrestles him into the bathroom and bends him over the sink.

 

‘I don’t want to cry anymore.’ The sound of his voice is lost under the sound of running water. He closes his eyes as Gemma starts massaging his scalp, teasing out the knots in his hair. He thinks Gemma’s crying too. Everything smells like bleach and he hurts everywhere.

 

 

 

 

Harry wakes up to shouting. It instantly puts him in a bad mood, which is then worsened when he sees that it’s not even 4 am yet.

 

He pulls himself out of bed and pulls on a t-shirt before he goes to investigate. He freezes as soon as he steps into the living room.

 

Louis’ eyes leave Gemma and fix onto him the second he sees him, cutting off mid-sentence. Harry’s heart aches before he remembers that he’s mad at him.

 

‘What are you doing here, Louis?’ His voice is embarrassingly raspy, and he clears his throat before continuing. ‘You need to leave.’

 

Louis frowns and his eyes almost flash red it seems. ‘What am I doing here?! What are you doing here, Harry?!’ He pauses, squinting at Harry. ‘And why the fuck are you blond?!’

 

Harry’s hand goes up to grab at his hair. He’d hoped that was just a very vivid dream. He sighs. ‘Just leave, Louis.’

 

Gemma looks between the pair of them. She looks mad. Louis makes no move to leave, folding his arms over his chest and stewing in his anger in the front hall.

 

‘You can go back to sleep, Gem,’ Harry says gently, approaching her and squeezing her shoulder, ‘I can handle this.’

 

Gemma looks ready to fight, but Harry gives her a pleading look and she huffs, shooting a last withering look to both him and Louis. As soon as her bedroom door closes, he turns to face Louis with fire in his eyes.

 

‘What do you want?’

 

Louis seethes. ‘I want to know why my boyfriend isn’t answering my calls, and why he up and left without even telling me.’

 

‘What?’ His eyebrows furrow and he mirrors Louis’ stance, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘I’m not your boyfriend anymore, Louis.’

 

Louis’ mouth twitches, a glimmer of hurt flashing across his face. ‘Well, I wish someone would have told me that.’

 

Harry feels blindingly cross again. ‘You broke up with me! You have no right to come and pretend to be sad and confused after you broke my fucking heart!’

 

‘I didn’t!’ Louis shouts. There’s a thud against Gemma’s door which he assumes is her way of telling them to shut up. Louis lowers his voice compliantly. ‘We agreed to take a break to think things over.’

 

‘No, you broke up with me and fucked off to go do your movie.’

 

Louis runs his fingers through his hair and looks over at the couch. ‘Can we sit?’

 

‘No,’ Harry starts, but Louis cuts him off.

 

‘I’ve just got off a flight at three in the morning and went to my new home, only to find that my boyfriend and all his shit was missing. Can we please sit down?’

 

Harry huffs, but sits down on the couch, staying far away from Louis. Silence stretches over them, drawing out for minutes on end.

 

‘You said that your life was ruined, and that you needed a break. That’s a universal way of ending things.’

 

‘That was my way of saying I needed a break to think things over! I’ve been on the phone with my lawyers, and my PR agents, and Liam all week trying to come up with a plan of action.’ He looks over at Harry but Harry looks away, feeling overly conscious of the fact that he’s not wearing pants. Louis sighs and sags back into the sofa, pulling at his hair.

 

‘They decided the best thing to do would be a public apology, followed by two more years of marriage, and only then could Eleanor and I get publically divorced,’ Harry still doesn’t say anything. ‘But I don’t want that, and neither does Eleanor. I still have no idea what I’m going to do, but I know I want you by my side.’

 

‘You were cruel,’ Harry seethes, ‘You hurt me and blamed me for everything. That fucking hurt and you had no right to be such a cunt.’

 

‘I know, God, I know. I’m so sorry, I was scared and didn’t know what to do. You didn’t deserve any of that. I didn’t want to hurt you. I love you, Harry.’

 

God, if Harry weren’t feeling so emotionally tender, he would scoff at how cliché the entire situation is. He pokes his thumb through a hole at the bottom of his oversized top, pulling at it to make it bigger.

 

‘You hurt me, and then you didn’t come after me,’ he mumbles finally. He sees Louis face him in his peripheral vision.

 

‘I didn’t know you wanted me to.’

 

Harry does snort then, because he feels like he’s starring in one of Louis’ earlier romance films. ‘This is ridiculous,’ he mutters mirthlessly while resting his elbows on his knees and putting his head in his hand. His pulls his hair, getting a fright when he sees the blond. Louis stays quiet, so Harry sighs and says, ‘Of course I did.’

 

‘Did what?’

 

‘Want you to chase after me.’

 

‘Why couldn’t you just chase after me?’

 

Harry lifts his head and shoots him a withering look so to smother his smile. Louis makes it too easy to forget the fact that he hates him. Harry looks back down at his knees and starts fiddling with his ring.

 

‘You’re wearing his ring again?’ Louis sounds hurt, his voice soft. Harry shrugs. ‘I promise I never meant to hurt you, H. I just needed to think a bit, not finish with you completely. I really fucking love you, Harry.’

 

Louis uses a finger to tilt Harry’s chin up and make him face him. ‘I’m sorry for hurting you.’

 

Harry wants to look away and stay mad at him for leaving him to flounder, but he just can’t. ‘I’m sorry too. Everything’s just gone a bit arse over tit, hasn’t it?’

 

Louis chuckles and shakes his head before he leans up and kisses him tentatively, tenderly. He rests his other hand on Harry’s knee and squeezes, followed by Harry placing his hand over his. Harry pulls away and collapses back into the couch cushion, feeling tired and confused and terrified but strangely at peace when Louis does the same, squeezing his hand.

 

Louis rubs his thumb over Harry’s knuckles. ‘Are we okay?’ He sounds like a scared little boy, running his thumb over Harry’s ring.

 

‘Not really,’ Harry starts, extracting his hand from Louis’ grip, ‘But we will be.’

 

Louis breaks out into a grin as he watches Harry slips his ring off his middle finger and drop it onto the side table. He pulls Harry in for another kiss before he stands and follows Harry to the guest room, slipping into bed beside him.

 

Harry wriggles around to get comfortable on his side, sighing in satisfaction when Louis snuggles up behind him, wrapping his arms around him and kissing the back of his neck. His hand edges under the hem of Harry’s t-shirt to rest over his warm stomach.

 

‘We’ll make it work,’ Louis tells the back of his head. Harry hums in agreement before he’s enveloped by the sound of silence.

 

 


	8. epilogue

‘Are you ready yet, babe?’

 

Harry stares at his reflection in the mirror, giving himself a final once-over. He fluffs up his hair a final time and adjusts his shirt before nodding at himself and leaving the bathroom.

 

He comes up behind Louis in the mirror, trailing his hands down his stomach before resting over his belt buckle. ‘You look dapper.’ He rubs his nose against Louis’ shoulder as Louis buttons up his jacket. Harry wraps his arms around his waist and clings to him as he presses a brush of a kiss to the skin above his shirt collar.

 

Louis looks down at his phone and slips it into his breast pocket. He turns around in Harry’s arms to grab hold of Harry’s hips. It smells like Chanel and hair-wax and hair dryer, and Harry is grateful for the small bit of calm they’ve been rewarded after an afternoon of frantic styling.

 

‘Come on, car’s waiting,’ Louis murmurs, pulling Harry closer to him and wrapping his arms around his waist. He presses his face into Harry’s neck and inhales. ‘You smell nice.’

 

Harry wraps his arms around his neck and starts playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Then he remembers to stop before he messes up all Louis’ stylist’s hard work. Harry kisses his temple and allows himself a final squeeze before he extracts himself from Louis’ hold.

 

He wants to kiss him, but they’ve both got full faces of makeup on. He’s not prepared to face the wrath of angry makeup artists if he somehow manages to smudge Louis’ lip tint. Louis grabs his hand and together they leave their suite, cuddling up together in the lift until they reach the hotel lobby.

 

A hotel porter directs them to their waiting car, and Harry climbs in first, Liam and the stylist sitting across from him. Louis wraps his arm around his shoulders once he’s inside the car. His stylist sends them a warning look that Louis pointedly ignores in favour of fiddling with Harry’s shirt buttons.

 

Harry watches his hands as he undoes another one of Harry’s buttons, brushing his shirt open to expose more of Harry’s chest. Harry slaps at his hand and does the button back up again. He’s not stupid, and he knows that they’re taking a big risk by allowing Harry to be Louis’ date. They might have made impressive headway in getting the world to accept Louis’ divorce, but he knows their relationship is still controversial. He doesn’t want to be labelled as a boy-toy their first official time out in the public eye.

 

Louis huffs and bats Harry’s hands away, so that he can undo two more buttons. He adjusts Harry’s crucifix so that it lies straight. ‘Want you to be yourself,’ he says softly, nosing at Harry’s ear. Sometimes Harry feels so full of pride when he realises how far Louis’ come. He melts into his side and holds his hand, squeezing their palms together when Louis kisses his cheek and breathes, ‘I love you so much.’

 

Harry turns to face him and brings his free hand up to thumb over his cheekbone, lips pulling into a smile before he throws caution to the wind and kisses Louis gently. ‘I love you more,’ he tells him.

 

Louis just squeezes his hand before turning his attention to Liam. Harry tunes out their conversation and stares out the window, unable to wipe the stupid grin off his face. The past few months have been the hardest of his life, and he and Louis have considered giving up too many times that he’s lost count.

 

But despite all the shouting and late night fighting, and the time when Harry packed up all his stuff and ran away to Zayn’s (only to run back to Louis within the hour) they’ve somehow battled their way through the fray.

 

Harry gets out first, following a stressed-looking girl with a clipboard to the end of the carpet around the back. From there, he can wait and watch when their car reaches the start of the red carpet, and Louis climbs out, flanked by Liam and someone holding a clipboard.

 

Louis’ smile doesn’t falter at all the entire trip down the carpet, despite the occasional horrible thing that Harry hears over the screams. He wants nothing more than to jump him as he answers questions and poses for photos, looking dark and gorgeous in his fitted charcoal suit.

 

Harry leans against the wall and pulls at the hem of his silky shirt while he waits, scuffing his new boots against the carpet. He ignores the bustle around him and waits impatiently for his boyfriend, breaking out into a bright grin when Louis looks over at him, sending him a quick wink.

 

Louis finishes his conversation and pats Liam’s shoulder, slipping past him to stride down the carpet towards where Harry’s waiting. As soon as he reaches him, he cups the back of Harry’s head and tilts his face down so that he can pull him into a kiss. Harry wraps his arms around his neck and presses his forehead against Louis’ as soon as he pulls away.

 

‘They can still see you,’ Harry hears Liam say, prompting him to take a step back away from Louis. Louis takes his hand and squeezes, letting Harry rest his head on his shoulder as he talks to Liam again. Harry has to bend quite a bit to do so, but it’s worth it, he thinks.

 

‘Come on, we’re going in,’ Louis tells him, keeping their hands linked when he puts his arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry turns to kiss his temple before he and Louis follow after Liam.

 

‘You nervous?’ Harry asks softly. Louis shakes his head.

 

‘I’ll be fine as long as I have you next to me.’

 

Harry snorts. ‘You’re such a sap,’ he teases, even though he feels exactly the same.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations and thank you if you made it this far. I hope it wasn't as horrible as I fear it might have been. 
> 
> Feel free to leave any feedback or check out [the tumblr post](http://girlharryofficial.tumblr.com/post/142945027621/big-bang-growing-pains-harrylouis-63k) ♡


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